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Earned $500.00 Spare Time

Frank J, Deutsch, Penn. : “/ have made
over $500out of Radio in my spare time.“
Radio Engineer In One Year
Claude De Grave, Canada: *'/ knew
nothing about Radio when I joined a
year ago. I am now a member of a
very exclusive organization of Radio
Engineers, and my income is 225%
greater than it was.’’

Doubles Income In 6 Months
W.E Thon, Chicago: *’SixmonthsafterI
enrolled / secured the managership of
largeRadioStore and doubled my income. ”

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Dapt. RN«9, 4SI3 Ravensweod Awe., Chleege, III.

Gentlemen: Please send me by return mail full details
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Name

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451} Ravenswood Ave., Dept. RN-9, Chicago, 111.

September, 1929

AMAZING STORIES

481

Not by Correspondence
All PiMar/cumdiat

ami

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September, 1929
Vol. 4, No. 6

JULES VERNE’S TOMBSTONE AT AMtENS
PORTRAYINS HIS IMMORTALITY

In Our Next Issue:

DEATH FROM THE SKIES, by A. Hyatt ycrrill,
is a unique story of exceeding interest. Being an
ethnologist and archeologist of high reputation,
Mr. Verrill must necessarily be conversant with
many other branches of science. He has proved
his versatility a number of times, but he has out-
done himself in working out this interplanetary

In Our September Issue:

The Red Peril

By Capi. S. P. Meek, U.S.A

Illustrated by Wesso

The Young Old Man

By Earl L. Bell

Illustrated by Briggs

Gold Dust and Star Dust

By Cyril G. Wales

Illustrated by Hynd

486

504

510

theme.

THE SECRET KINGDOM, by Otis Adelbert
Kline. (A Serial in three parts). Part I. Do van-
quished races really become submerged by the
victorious nations or otherwise disappear? It may
be a comparatively simple matter keeping tabs on
exiled royalty or leaders nowadays ; but what
happened to the exiled rulers of the days before
printing and wireless? Mr. Kline, who needs no
introduction to our readers, gives some theories
on the subject in convincing language and in a
most plausible manner.

The Triumph of the Machines

{A Sonnet)

By Stanton A. Cohlentc 521

The Coral Experiment

By Alexander Snyder 522

Illustrated by Wallit

The White Army

By Dr. Daniel Dressier 528

Illustrated by McKay

CHAMBER OF LIFE, by G. Peyton Wertenbaker.
The author of “The Man From the Atom” comes
back to us with an entirely new and original
theme. It is a well-written story, picturing a per-
fectly ordered world.

The Dog’s Sixth Sense

By IV. Ale.vander 540

Illustrated by Briggs

What Do You Know?

(Science Questionnaire) 543

THE STEAM GOD, by Walter Kateley. Geologic
upheavals have created amazing changes and de-
veloped strange conditions, much of which has
been studied by geologists. But there are still
miles and miles of unknown lands. What peoples
might be living in uncharted ice-lands or inacces-
sible valleys? Mr. Kateley has built up a story of
logical sequence containing much of scientific
value.

Out of the Void

(A Serial in 2 parts) Part II

By Leslie I'. Stone 544

Illustrated by McKay

Discussions 555

In the Realm of Books

(Mostly Scientific Fiction) 566

THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY LIMITED,

by Paul Slachta. This is a great deal more than
a story of aviation. Crowded out of the August
issue.

And other stories.

Our Cover

this month depicts a scene from the story entitled “The
Red Peril,” by Capt. S. P. Meek. U.S.A., in which is shown
the futile attempts of the perfectly equipped American
naval airships of the future to destroy the enemy craft,
completely protected by a repellent element.

AMAZINP. STORIES MONTHLY. Published at IM-lfl Jamaica Avenue. Jamaica. N. T. Entered as seeond-elase
natter at Jamaica. N. Y.. under the act oC March 3, 1379. Title ReRistereii U. S. Patent Office. Copyright. 1929,
by B. P. Inc.. N. Y. European Agents. S. J. Wise Et (’le. 40 Place Verte. Antwerp. Belgium. Printed in U. S. A.
Subscription price Is $2..^0 a year In U. .‘l. and Possessions; $3.90 a year in Canada and Foreign Countries; single
copies, 35 rents each. Editorial and Executive Offices, 391 Fourth Avenue, Ke^v York. N. Y. Publishers are net
responsible tor mss. lost, although every care is taken for their safety.

482

September, 1929

AMAZING STORIES

483

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484

AMAZING STORIES

September, 1929

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THE
MAGAZINE
OF

SCIENTIFICTION

ARTHUR H. LYNCH, Editorial Director

T. O’CONOR SLOANE, Ph.D., Associate Editor MIRIAM BOURNE, Associate Editor

C. A. BRANDT, Literary Editor

Editorial and General Offices: 381 Fourth Avenue, New York, N. Y.

Extravagant Fiction T oday Cold Fact To-morrow

The Editor and the Reader

By T. O’Conor Sloane, Ph.D.

twenty centuries ago the question was asked
why no one is content with his lot in life.^ The
soldier wants to be a merchant and everyone in any
vocation wishes he had some other one. It is very
easy to complain about the troubles that come into
the editorial sanctum. But there is so much in the
kind appreciation of our readers, who sometimes
seem to us to be too flattering in their comments, that this com-
pensates for many troubles. In Amazing Stories it is absolutely
necessary that every story which goes to the printer should be
examined for correctness, and in many cases must be edited
and changed a little from the standpoint of grammar perhaps and
of the rules of correct composition. But the editor here is walking
on very slippery ground. Many authors are unduly sensitive. In
pre-Victorian days authors were very willing to submit their
writings to critics for emendation. But the author of today
often objects to even minor changes, overlooking the fact that
frequentlj[ two heads are better than one. But there is no
difficulty in correcting errors of composition, tautology and the
like — all this is simplicity itself if the author will stand for it.

And then we come to natural science. The science which
appears in our stories has a range and extent to cover nearly
everything in nature. The letters which we publish in our "Dis-
cussions” column are only a few of those which we receive, so
we know that any blunders will be noted by some of our readers.
Thus the question of size of a cube which could exactly fit into
a sphere of given radius came up in a story published in a
recent issue. This is an interesting calculation and some of our
mathematically disposed readers might be interested in deducing
the formula. We will not do it for them, but will hope to receive
some letters giving the results of their work. The formula can
be deduced on the basis of the square of^ the hypotheneuse, the
famous proposition of Euclid, often mistaken for the Pons
Asinorum, the "Bridge of Asses,” which is a different one.

Even in this case in our editorial work we ran across an error.
It was the one cited above. The writer of the erroneous pas-
sage called the hypotheneuse proposition the Pons Asinorunt,
and the curious feature about it was that the perpetrator of
the error was a most distinguished scientist. But it is fair
to say that no one except an editor realizes the multiplicity of
errors that are made by writers. In the case cited above
of a cube inside of a sphere there was an error which we
corrected, and this error was made by an exceptionally compe-
tent and highly educated electrician.

One of the curious errors we have run up against is the state-
ment which was made by an author in one of his stories, that one
pole of a magnet attracts iron filings, and that the other pole
disperses them. This, of course, is absolutely wrong and had to
be edited out.

In former days some authors had a way of fighting with their
best friend, the proofreader. The old-time proofreader was de-
voted to his work and watched for every kind of error, literary
historical or scientific. Where arithmetical calculations appeared!
he would go over them to see if they were correct. A quotation
attributed to the wrong author would elicit a suggested change
in the name. It seemed to be a matter of pride with him, and
yet he had to contend with all kinds of personalities among the
authors, some of whom angrily resented any changes. Really the
proofreader was the author’s best friend and his assistant. But
those good old days are gone and the editors of Amazing
Stories themselves have to watch for every conceivable mistake.

Any printer who has had extensive experience with authors
can tell strange stories about the way they act with regard to
corrections of their copy. They are a very sensitive class of
people. We know of a case in which in a long story about
four words were changed, and the author objected quite strongly
to this. In the proverbial expression, in dealing with authors you
are skating on very thin ice. At least, the editor and printer
always feel insecure, even when they know that they are im-
proving a faulty passage. It sometimes seems as if an author
should be grateful for adequate criticism of his manuscript.
It is not always a pleasant thing for the editor to correct it
which makes it doubly hard for him to get scolded for
doing so.

Then comes the question of authors. There is no need to re-
capitulate their names. There are a number of them that have
done much for us in past years — ^they are all at our service and
are so highly appreciated by our readers that there is danger of
a lack of variety. But it will not do for a magazine to have too
small a staff of authors. It is essential that its pages should be
open to newly discovered merit, not only to the personality of the
writer. It is said to be impossible to please everybody, but the
letters which we publish are, as a rule, extremely commendatory
and we can assure our readers that we do not select those which
praise us, but put in criticizing letters as they come along.

“Our mapzine” some of our correspondents consider it— this is
what we wish it to be. Interplanetary stories are great favorites
and have had many votes of preference and these we must give. But
they are based on imagination and the science in them must be
inevitably stretched a lot to cover the distances to be traversed.
We have received many other votes of preference from our
readers, and strive to follow them, but it is not always possible.
But our desire now as always is to call this “your magazine”;
to have you call it “our magazine,” claiming it as your own. and
to feel that our readers are a body of editors to help us by
suggestions and encourage us by good wishes, and when we
deserve it, to criticise us and tell us of our shortcomings.

485

annihilation by deadly germs, which Is the shape
that future international warfare may take, is told
of in this story. Captain Meek is an army man, closely
allied with matters of war therefore and much inter*
ested in its possibilities. Besides being an army man,
however, he has a vivid imagination that builds con*
structive pictures'>-even of entirely new methods of war-
fare — and a knack for transmitting these pictures by way
of the word. An engineer of high standing said of this
story, “It is certainly logical and may well be conceived
before the next war.”

Capt.

S. P. Meek,

[/. S. A.

Author of "Murgatroyd Experiment,"
and "Futility"

[HAT do you know about tularemia?”

The Assistant Chief of Staff, G-2 (Mili-
tary Intelligence) looked up at the Surgeon
General with a puzzled frown.

“Never heard of it,” he said. “Wait a
minute, though, it seems to sound familiar. Wasn’t there
a rabbit disease of that name prevalent in the west a few
years ago?”

“That’s it,” replied the Surgeon General. “It has ap-
peared in the United States again and has also made its
appearance in Europe and Asia.”

“Rather hard on the bunnies,” laughed General Mun-
roe, “but then, ‘men must hunt and bunnies must weep,’
you know. I didn’t know that you were a hunter.”

“It is more serious than a matter of hunting,” said the
Surgeon. “This is a new and more virulent form of the
disease and so far we have found no way of combating it.
Not content with cleaning out the rabbits, it has spread to
guinea-pigs and already they are scarce all over the
world. If a war were to break out now, we would be
practically defenceless.”

“That is serious,” replied General Munroe, a twinkle in
his eye, “think of all our crack regiments of guinea-pigs
lying dead and unable to interpose their brave bodies be-
tween our homes and a foreign invader. However,
Humboldt, cheer up ; all is not yet lost. I have it quite
confidentially that the navy are ready to substitute squir-

rels for guinea-pigs as engineers and use cats instead of
rabbits as able seamen, so the ships can still function.
I’ll have the Chief of the Air Corps in right away and
tell him to make plans to use pigeons and canary birds as
flyers, so we may be able to hold out for a few days
even if war does come.”

General Humboldt snorted in disgust.

“That is about what is to be expected from a wooden-
headed Artilleryman,” he remarked. “I suppose that
you think your remarks are humorous. The humor may
strike you as rather forced if you will think for a minute
and realize that ninety-five per cent of the disease serums
we manufacture are made from cultures of either guinea-
pig or rabbit blood. As far as men and guns and ships
and aircraft go, we are well prepared, but how could we
combat a disease germ offense, if one were launched
against us?”

General Munroe sat back suddenly.

“Nonsense, Humboldt,” he said sharply, “such a thing
is unthinkable. No nation would dare to use disease
germs in the face of International Law.”

“International Law didn’t stop the use of poison gas
in 1915. If the thought of a disease germ offensive is
so impossible, why have we done so much research work
on bombs for that purpose?”

General Munroe drummed absently on his desk.

“I beg your pardon, Humlx)ldt,” he said. “It didn’t

486

Peril

^ANNIHILATION by deadly germs, which Is the shape
that future international warfare may take, is told
of in this story. Captain Meek is an army man, closely
allied with matters of war therefore and much inter*
ested in its possibilities. Besides being an army man,
however, he has a vivid imagination that builds con*
structive pictures'>-even of entirely new methods of war-
fare — and a knack for transmitting these pictures by way
of the word. An engineer of high standing said of this
story, “It is certainly logical and may well be conceived
before the next war.”

Capt.

S. P. Meek,

[/. S. A.

Author of "Murgatroyd Experiment,”
and "Futility”

[HAT do you know about tularemia?”

The Assistant Chief of Staff, G-2 (Mili-
tary Intelligence) looked up at the Surgeon
General with a puzzled frown.

“Never heard of it,” he said. “Wait a
minute, though, it seems to sound familiar. Wasn’t there
a rabbit disease of that name prevalent in the west a few
years ago?”

“That’s it,” replied the Surgeon General. “It has ap-
peared in the United States again and has also made its
appearance in Europe and Asia.”

“Rather hard on the bunnies,” laughed General Mun-
roe, “but then, ‘men must hunt and bunnies must weep,’
you know. I didn’t know that you were a hunter.”

General Humboldt snorted in disgust.

General Munroe sat back suddenly.

“Nonsense, Humboldt,” he said sharply, “such a thing
is unthinkable. No nation would dare to use disease
germs in the face of International Law.”

“International Law didn’t stop the use of poison gas
in 1915. If the thought of a disease germ offensive is
so impossible, why have we done so much research work
on bombs for that purpose?”

General Munroe drummed absently on his desk.

“I beg your pardon, Humlx)ldt,” he said. “It didn’t

486

^ How
important

the scientist be-
come in the field of
military achievement^

Illustrated

WESSO

^ In a few moments,
a picture of a wireless
dispatch showed on a
ground-glass screen over
the desk.

a year and perfected an antivirus that did the work. He
started in Wisconsin and almost wiped the disease out in
a year. It took about two more years to completely
eliminate it, but it finally disappeared and there hasn’t
been a case reported from 1934 until about three months
ago.

“The first case was reported near El Paso, Texas,
and it was regarded as a mere freak and unimportant.
Rabbits were treated with Stieffel’s virus and it was
confidently expected that the disease would die out in
a few weeks. Instead it spread with alarming rapidity.
Within a month of the first case, others were reported
almost simultaneously from such widely separated places
as Bangor, Maine; Orlando, Florida; Tacoma, Washing-
ton, and Tampico, Tamaulipas. It has been reported
from every one of the ninety-one states except Ontario,
Nicaragua, Yukon, Maryland and Mississippi.

seem serious. That phase of it didn’t strike me at first.”

“It wouldn’t,” retorted the Surgeon General. “Nothing
less than an eighteen inch gun can make an impression
on you. If you are sufficiently impressed with the real
seriousness of the situation. I’ll tell you something about
tularemia and also inform you of what information I
need.”

“I am at your service,” answered General Munroe.

“Tularemia,” said the Surgeon General, “originally
made its appearance in the United States in southern
Nevada some thirty years ago ; in 1927 to be exact. At
first it was confined to jackrabbits and did not spread.
In 1929 it appeared in California and also east to Utah
and began to attack all types of rabbits. It almost
wrecked the rabbit industry of California and it threat-
ened to spread all over the country.

“Serum therapy was in its infancy at that time. About
all the serums that we had were for smallpox, typhoid,
paratyphoid, tetanus, rabies, diphtheria and spinal menin-
gitis and some of them were not altogether certain in
their action. As a result, the War Department was not
especially interested, but the Department of the Interior
was. The rabbit breeders and the sportsmen of the
country united in demanding action and in 1931, after
our veterinarians had confessed to failure, they imported
Professor Stieffel from Belgium and paid him half a
million to solve the problem. He worked at it for about

“ AT first the disease followed the same course as the
xV attack of 1927-1934, but now it has extended its
range and is attacking practically every rodent in the
country. Not only rabbits and guinea-pigs, but also rats,
mice, gophers and squirrels have been reported among
its victims. It is a different type and Stieffel’s virus has
no effect on the affected animals and is even useless as
an immunizer. However, there is one bright side. Tula-
remia, as we formerly knew it, used to attack, with great
virulence, people who handled the affected rodents. But
this new form does not seem to affect humans.”

“That’s a good thing,” interjected Munroe.

“Very good, but from the standpoint of national de-
fense, it might be better if it attacked people and left
guinea-pigs alone. As you probably know, the Medical
Department has prepared and has in storage about a bil-
lion tubes of anti-disease serums of all kinds, enough to
immunize less than one-fourth of the population of the
United States against all diseases. The reason for this
shortage is partly lack of money which has been spent on
aircraft and big guns, instead of where it should have
been used, and partly the fact that over thirty serums,
notably those for cancer, pneumonia and leprosy, cannot
be stored, but must be used almost as soon as manu-
factured.”

“All are already immunized against cancer, are they
not?”

487

V* " How
important
a figure has
the scientist be-
come in the field of
military achievement?

Illustrated

WESSO

In a few moments,
a picture of a wireless
dispatch showed on a
ground-glass screen over
the desk.

“The first case was reported near El Paso, Texas,
and it was regarded as a mere freak and unimportant.
Rabbits were treated with Stieffel’s virus and it was
confidently expected that the disease would die out in
a few weeks. Instead it spread with alarming rapidity.
Within a month of the first case, others were reported
almost simultaneously from such widely separated places
as Bangor, Maine ; Orlando, Florida ; Tacoma, Washing-
ton, and Tampico, Tamaulipas. It has been reported
from every one of the ninety-one states except Ontario,
Nicaragua, Yukon, Maryland and Mississippi.

seem serious. That phase of it didn’t strike me at first.’’

“I am at your service,” answered General Munroe.

“ AT first the disease followed the same course as the
l \ attack of 1927-1934, but now it has extended its
range and is attacking practically every rodent in the
country. Not only rabbits and guinea-pigs, but also rats,
mice, gophers and squirrels have been reported among
its victims. It is a different type and Stieffel’s virus has
no effect on the affected animals and is even useless as
an immunizer. However, there is one bright side. Tula-
remia, as we formerly knew it, used to attack, with great
virulence, people who handled the affected rodents. But
this new form does not seem to affect humans.”

“That’s a good thing,” interjected Munroe.

“All are already immunized against cancer, are they
not?”

487

488

AMAZING STORIES

“Unfortunately not. While a great many states have
made immunization for cancer and smallpox compulsory,
some of them have not, and many have exempted those
claiming a conscientious objection to the use of serums.
From available statistics I estimate that we would re*
quire, in the event of a declaration of war, fully five
times our present reserve supply of serums to protect
everyone. Normally such a supply could be produced in
five months if all laboratories worked at capacity on it,
but with our present shortage, of guinea-pigs it would
take about two years. If the rodents diminish as rap-
idly during the next three months as they have the last
three, it would take eleven years, and in a year from now,
unless we can check the tularemia, it will be impossible
to protect the entire population in any length of time.”

“The situation certainly looks serious,” admitted Gen-
eral Munroe. “What can I do to help you?”

“I want you to give me everything in the Military In-
telligence file and get me everything in the State De-
partment and the Interior Department files on the follow-
ing subjects: Tularemia, shipments of guinea-pigs and
other rodents, disease germ bearing bombs and projectiles
and Balinsky.”

“Balinsky ?” asked General Munroe as he paused from
his task of writing down the subjects which the Surgeon
General was rattling off.

“Yes,” replied General Humboldt. “I have an idea
that Balinsky may be at the bottom of it. From the
nature of the outbreak, I feel certain that it is the first
move of a hostile government bent on war. The only
storm center that I can see is Russia and naturally my
thoughts turn there first. Another reason is that Feodor
Balinsky is probably the most profound serumologist
and physiological chemist in the world. Until he left
the United States and went to Russia on Gorodin’s in-
vitation four years ago, he did more in the lines of im-
proving serums and combating disease than any one else.
He has dropped completely out of sight for two years,
and he is the only man that I know of with the ability to
produce such results, whose life is not an open book.”

“Those files will be in your office this afternoon,” said
Munroe as he placed a penciled memo which he had pre-
pared, in a holder, focused a light on it and pressed a
button.

“That is an ingenious apparatus,” said General Hum-
boldt admiringly as he glanced at the holder.

“Quite good,” conceded Munroe. “Major Hamilton of
the Signal Corps perfected it a few months ago. It is in
effect, a direction-controlled, portable television appara-
tus, but the ingenious part of it is that it can be neither
tapped nor interfered with like an ordinary wireless tele-
vision. This memo will be simultaneously repro-
duced in the Adjutant General’s Office, the State De-
partment and the Interior Department in St. Louis.”

“Very ingenious,” replied the Surgeon General as he
bowed himself out.

When General Humboldt had left. General Munroe sat
in silence for a few minutes drumming on his desk.
Presently he pressed a button before him.

“Wavelength, please?” said a feminine voice.

“QXBR over 3,” he answered.

“Thank you,” replied the voice and a buzzing sound
filled the office.

“General Diesen,” announced a crisp, voice.

“This is Munroe, General,” he said, “are you busy ?”

“Not too busy to talk for a minute.”

“Good enough. I have something of enough impor-
tance to warrant a personal conference. Will you have
Butler up to your office in ten minutes and if the Secre-
tary of State and Secretary Warren aren’t busy, I think
that they would be interested.”

“I’ll get them,” replied the voice.

Ten minutes later. General Munroe knocked on the
door of the private office of the Chief of Staff. In re-
sponse to an invitation he entered, saluted General
Diesen, shook hands with the Secretaries of State and
War and nodded affably to General Butler, the Assis-
tant Chief of Staff. G-5 (War Plans).

“What’s on your mind, Munroe?” asked the chief of
Staff.

“It’s pretty important, I think,” he replied as he took
a seat. “General Humboldt was in to see me and he
tells me that the supply of guinea-pigs is running short.”

The Secretary of State laughed agreeably, but a frown
came on General Diesen’s face.

“What is this, Munroe, a joke?” he said sharply.

“That’s what I thought it was when Humboldt first
sprang it on me,” replied Munroe, “but he showed me
that it wasn’t. Let me tell you what he said.”

In a few words he outlined the news which the Sur-
geon General had given him a few minutes before.

“Of course, it’s primarily an M.I.D.’^' matter,” he went
on, “but you know how touchy old Humboldt is, so I
ordered our files out for his inspection and I requested
State and Interior to cooperate. Meanwhile I asked for
this conference.

“There may be something in what Humboldt says,”
remarked the Chief of Staff thoughtfully. “Mister Sec-
retary, is there any unusual evidence of tension in the
direction of Russia?”

“We have no diplomatic representatives in Russia,” re-
plied the Secretary of State, “but of course we get every-
thing they send out on the general broadcasts. Their
tone has been unusually arrogant and truculent for the
last two months but I have laid it to the fact that they
have a new premier, Zaneff, and that he is trying to im-
press the Commissars with his importance and energy.”

“Have we no secret agents in Russia?” asked the Chief
of Staff.

“Yes, we have a number, but since Zaneff has got in
power, there has been a new and more rigid censorship
on the outgoing messages and we have received very
few reports and at least one of them was obviously
doctored in transmission. All that we could make out of
it was something about a decrease in the supply of Afri ■
can pork, or some such gibberish.”

General Munroe sprang to his feet.

“Get that message. Mister Secretary,” he cried, “I
think I see a light.”

The Secretary of State stepped to General Diesen’s
communicator and spoke a few words of direction and in
a few moments a picture of a wireless dispatch showed
on a ground glass screen over the desk. General Munroe
studied it thoughtfully.

“ ‘Steps are being taken to decrease the existing sup-
ply of African pork. Advise conservation and over-
production of tubing. H. J. Balinsky,’ ” he read. “Is
your agent’s name Balinsky?”

“His symbol is H.J.,” explained the Secretary. “Those
initials are prefixed to any convenient name.”

•Military Intelligence Division.

THE RED PERIL

489 !

“The name, Balinsky, is in itself significant,” replied
Munroe, “and taken with the rest of the message, it is
highly illuminating. Humboldt was right.”

“What do you make of it, Munroe?” cried General
Diesen.

“Pork, of course, comes from pigs and Guinea, is an
old name for Africa. Serums are stored in hermetically
sealed tubes. I would think that your agent was afraid
that this message would be intercepted and decoded and
so he disguised his wording, hoping that the very oddity
would attract attention and that some one in the State
Department would dig out his meaning. I would read
the message this way : ‘Steps are being taken to decrease
the world’s supply of guinea-pigs. It will probably suc-
ceed, so I advise the hurried production and storage of
a large supply of serums. Balinsky is at the bottom
of it.’ ”

“By God, I believe you’re right !” exclaimed the Secre-
tary of War. “General Butler, get out the plans on
Russia at once and bring them here. General Diesen,
have all the Chiefs of Branch report here in five minutes.
If this is what we think it is, minutes count.”

L ieutenant eddy of the United states Air

j Corps swung idly around o.n a fifty mile circle over
New York City. The Lieutenant was doing a turn on
patrol duty at the sixty thousand foot level and time was
passing slowly for Jiim. '

“It’s a lovely war,” he mused as he glanced out through
the rock crystal windows of his cabin, kept clear of frost
by the exhaust of his atomic engine, “for three weeks
the General Staff has been confabbing away in Washing-
ton and they’ve kept the wartime patrols over every big
city and there has been no declaration of war nor any
signs of one and not a blamed thing has happened. Why
can’t they leave us on the ground for a while?”

He came to the limit of his patrol area and lazily swung
his rudder and turned around to go back over his route.
He glanced at his airspeed meter and at the tachometers
attached to the huge propeller and the elevating fans
which were driven by the tiny atomic engine concealed in
the hull. Everything was functioning perfectly and he
set his rudder for straight ahead and stepped to tlie
high powered telescope that formed part of his equip-
ment and swept the horizon carefully. Nothing was
visible at his level except the connecting patrol some
fifty miles away, but far below him the air liners and
the freight transports were swinging along on orderly
lines. On a still lower level, so far below him as to be
out of sight except through the telescope, little pleasure
flyers bustled to and fro over the huge city. The Lieu-
tenant scanned the horizon again and yawned. At his
normal cruising speed, and he was in no hurry, it would
take him about five minutes to cover the fifty miles that
intervened between his position at the turn and the limits
of his post and he threw himself down on the cot that
occupied one side of the cabin of the scouting aerostat.
He gazed sleepily up into the cloudless sky above him,
his mind a blank. Far above him a tiny speck attracted
his attention and he watched it idly. Suddenly a thought
struck him that brought him bolt upright.

“What the dickens?” he ejaculated. “I am at sixty
thousand unless my altimeter is a liar. What can that
speck be? There isn’t a craft made that has a ceiling of
over eighty thousand and that speck is a lot higher than
that.”

He turned his telescope upward and examined the
suspicious object. The powerful instrument showed it
to be a rectangular block of some dark substance and
Lieutenant Eddy was sure that he could see the blur .of
propellers at one end of it. He adjusted his sound lo-
cater and the hum of powerful atomic engines filled his
cabin. Hurriedly he swung his range finder on the
strange craft. He shook his head in unbelief as he read
the figures recorded. He rubbed his eyes and adjusted
the range finder again.

“Forty-five thousand!” he exclaimed. “I am sixty
thousand up. Why, that craft must be twenty miles
above ground! ImpossiWe!”

Again he read the range and then read the angle
subtended by the strange machine.

“About three hundred feet long and ninety feet wide,”
he said after a moment of calculation, “and it’s twenty
miles up. I’d better report it.”

He turned to his communicator and pressed his key,
but only a snapping, spitting sound rewarded him. Pow-
erful interference waves from the monster of the sky
above him had rendered his communicator temporarily
useless. As he glanced up again, he saw that the black
craft was nearer and was coming toward him rapidly.
Following it were three more machines of the same
type.

Thorolighly alarmed. Lieutenant Eddy shut off his
elevation fans and his propeller and allowed his ship to
drop like a plummet toward {he earth. Another glance
aloft showed him that the strangers were overtaking him
and he turned the telescope on them. They resembled
a brick in shape and so far as he could see were of
solid black material with no signs of windows. At one
end were three large propellers capable of driving the
unwieldy mass at a terrific speed. There were no signs
of elevation fans or even erf the crude pl.anes used on
the earlier types of aircraft. Puzzled as he was, he had
time to note on one end, blazoned in sombre colors, the
emblem of the Russian Union of Soviet Republics.

The Russian ship was rapidly overtaking him and
Lieutenant Eddy took a chance on a maneuver that was
taught in the flying schools to be used only as a last
resort. Throwing his horizontal rudder hard up, he
turned the nose of his aerostat toward the ground and
pulled the control lever of his propeller forward to the
last notch. At over two thousand miles an hour the
tiny scout rushed toward the ground. For ten seconds
he kept on at this headlong pace and then leveled his
ship and threw his elevating fans into gear. The whole
ship groaned and rocked with the effort, but the down-
ward speed was gradually checked and the ship came to
a momentary rest and then started to climb when he was
a bare five hundred feet from the ground.

“That was a close shave !” he muttered as he adjusted
his elevating fans to hold his elevation and throwing
into action the powerful atomic searchlight that warned
all ships that he was on government business and had
the right of way, he headed at top speed toward his
patrol hangars on Long Island. The Russian ships were
no longer in sight to his naked eyes, but his telescope
revealed them as high in the air and climbing rapidly.

Ten minutes later he was describing his adventure
to the Chief of Staff and the Chief Air Officer in Wash-
ington. His story was almost beyond belief but all air-
craft in the vicinity of New York were ordered to take
the air and observe the strangers. The first ships up

490

AMAZING

reported the Russian craft as visible through their tele-
scopes at unbelievable heights and still climbing. They
were soon out of sight even tnrough the powerful tele-
scopes with which the American scouts were equipped.

The next day at noon the Russians attacked. The four
mighty ships came into view above the city and swung
majestically down until they were at an elevation of five
thousand feet. It could be seen then they were shaped
like rectangular blocks, about three hundred feet long
by ninety feet wide and about fifteen feet high. The
bottom of each ship consisted of a layer of some black
substance, but the material of the other five sides was
clear and crystalline, resembling glass or rock crystal,
crisscrossed with wide ribbons of presumably the same
black substance as composed the bottom. Inside could
be seen powerful atomic engines which drove three huge
propellers which projected through one of the glass ends
of the machine. There was no sign of elevating fans.

S O far the Russians had committed no overt act and
although the American fleet hung close around them
and the anti-aircraft batteries on the harbor were manned,
not a gun was fired. Suddenly a rocket rose from one
of the Russian craft and at the signal each of the four
dropped, from keel batteries, a single bomb. The ships
moved forward slowly, dropping a bomb each in response
to the signals of their leader, at quarter-mile intervals.

This was the hostile act for which the American craft
had been waiting. From the aerostat which flew the
pennon of the Harbor Defense Commander, three green
lights flew into the air. Hardly had they been launched
than from a thousand craft of all .sizes which had been
maneuvering around, above and below the hostile fleet,
a perfect torrent of gunfire was opened. The air shook
with the crash of the guns and the Russians were hidden
from sight by the curtain of smoke from the bursting
high explosive .shells which surrounded them.

The firing ceased for the American craft could not
see the enemy and were afraid of hitting one another.
As the smoke cleared away, the four massive ships were
seen moving slowly and steadily forward, apparently
none the worse for the bombardment to which they had
been subjected. Not a single opposing shot came from
the Russian fleet.

The Harbor Defense Commander gave the signal to
cease firing and with intrepid bravery ordered his ship
forward to within three hundred yards of the invaders.
The American craft was a huge hundred man cruising
aerostat of the latest model and equipped with a six inch
rifle carrying a shell with a bursting charge of forty-
eight pounds of radite, the most powerful explosive
known, for in addition to its demolition power, it had
an atomic disintegrating effect that did a thousand times
more damage than a similar weight of ordinary high
explosive.

This gun, enormous in power, the largest ever taken
into the air, was trained on the invader at pointblank
range and the Commander himself fired it. The Ameri-
can ship rocked under the recoil and from the side of the
Russian came a blinding flash and a cloud of smoke.

"A direct hit 1” cried the Gunnery Officer.

The smoke cleared away and the Russian ship moved
forward, uninjured by the blow it bad received.

"That stuff can’t be glass or rock crystal,” exclaimed
the Gunnery Officer. “Why, man alive, thirty inches of
the best steel would have given way before that much
radite.”

STORIES

"It’s too much for me,” replied the Commander.
“There is only one thing to do. Order all ships out of
the danger zone and let the eighteen inch rifles o» Gov-
ernor’s Island take a try at it.”

The anti-aircraft batteries had no better luck. The
gunners were well trained and the target was large and
close and moving slowly and time after time direct hits
were reported by the observers, but even three tons of
steel and radite did not seem to affect the Russian fleet.
In despair, the Commander ordered another general at-
tack by his air fleet.

Around, over and under the invaders, the Americans
swooped and guns of every caliber from the tiny .256
machine guns carrying radite charged bullets to the six
inch rifle of the Commander’s craft poured their fire
unavailingly at the strangers. One daring flyer in a
one-man scout drew off a few miles to get up velocity
and, abandoning his ship for a parachute, set his controls
to send his scout headlong into one of the Russian craft
at a speed of over two thousand miles an hour. The
Russian was not injured, but the critmpled remains of
the American craft tumbled to the ground.

Not a shot did the attackers fire. They merely main-
tained their even pace over the city and back again, drop-
ping their bombs with monotonous regularity. When
they had covered the ground to their satisfaction, in re-
sponse to a signal from their leader, they started to climb.
The American fleet followed them to the upper limit to
which an aerostat could reach (about seventy-five thou-
sand feet) and chagrined, watched the strangers rise to
a height of about twenty miles and take their way east at
a pace of about a thousand miles an hour.

The bombs which had fallen on New York had ap-
parently done no damage. They were of the common
fifty pound demolition type, but the bursting charge
had been reduced to such a small amount that they did
no damage when bursting on impact. They merely split
open and threw their contents, which resembled fine
dust, into the air where the wind caught it and whirled
it around. The New Yorkers had taken to the lower
stories and the basements at the start of the attack, but
as bomb after bomb fell without doing damage, they
came out into the streets in swarms and picked up frag-
ments of the shells as souvenirs. Only a half dozen
injuries were reported and they were all caused by the
victims being struck by fragments of the shells which
the American craft had fired at the invaders.

The attack was on Tuesday and it was not until the
following Saturday that any explanation came. The
newspapers reported the bombing of London and Paris
on Wednesday, of Rome and Constantinople on Thurs-
day and of Calcutta and Pekin on Friday. In each case
the raid was a duplicate of the attack on New York.
The Russian ships did not fire a shot but moved slowly
over the city, impervious and contemptuous of attacks
made on them, dropping their bombs at regular inter-
vals. In each case when the attack was completed, they
rose to a height of about twenty miles and moved off in
regular formation.

Repeated messages to Leningrad and Moscow brought
no reply. As far as the rest of the world was concerned,
the Russian communication .stations had ceased to exist.
The executive heads of the nations of the world hur-
riedly assembled at Honolulu to discuss plans and the
younger, hotter headed among them urged an immediate
invasion of Russia by the aerial navies of the world and
an extensive program of reprisals. The older men kep.t

THE RED PERIL

491

their heads and pointed out that so far the Russians had
done no damage, had taken no lives and had injured no
property.

“We have, however, learned that we are absolutely
powerless against them,” said the aged Governor Martin
of France. “So long as they content themselves with
showering our cities with dust, let us not be thrown
into panic. I was in Paris Wednesday when the attack
came and I tell you that the urchins of the street might
as well have tossed apples at them, for all the harm that
our batteries and aircraft could do to them. They are
supreme in the air and if we should attack them in
their homes, they would come back and, instead of dust,
they would drop radite, and how could we prevent them ?
No, let us wait. Soon they will tell us their object,
and it may be that we can treat with them. Meanwhile,
let each of us set our greatest scientists to work in the
hope that they will discover the secrets of these new
machines and find some way of combating them.”

T he conference adjourned after deciding that the
words of the Governor of France were the best
counsel that could be had in the emergency that all felt
threatened them. On Saturday Russia spoke.

“Workers of the World,” read a general broadcast-
from Leningrad, “the time for the world revolution has
arrived. For two generations your brethren in Russia
have labored for you, working toward the glorious end
to which we have attained. Your rulers who are grind-
ing you into the dust have felt the power of the people
and will not dare to oppose your will. Arise and throw
down the false governments who enslave you and turn
toward the glorious sun of freedom which shines alone
in Russia. Our airfleet has passed over the great cities
of the world and has shown its irresistible power. None
could oppose it. No one was harmed for we did not
wish to harm our brothers. But next time, we strike
to kill.

“One week is allowed before we strike. If, during
that week, any nation completely overthrows its present
government and agrees to receive Commissars from Rus-
sia to exercise the supreme government until the work-
ers learn from them the pure principles of freedom, that
nation will be spared. Woe to the nation that clings to its
chains and prefers the fleshpots of Egypt to the priceless
boon of freedom which is offered, for that nation will
perish from the face of the earth. Woe to the rulers who
oppose the voice of the people, for their portion shall be
death. Woe to the rich men who hold the lands and
goods which belong of right to the people, for their
portion shall be slavery. Woe to the preachers of false
doctrines lor their portion shall be everlasting silence.
Workers of the world, you have one week in which to
gain your freedom with our aid. One week from today,
we strike 1”

Hurried conferences of the governments of the world
were called. There was no doubt of the power of Russia
to inflict untold damage and suffering if their terms were
not accepted and .some of the weaker and more timid
nations were inclined to accept the terms offered, point-
ing out that once they had obtained the secrets of the
machines, they would build their own and bid defiance to
Leningrad. The stronger nations pointed out that the
demands made by the Soviets would cripple any country
accepting the terms for at least a generation. The con-
ference broke up with no deci.sion reached.

The Congress of the United States was hurriedly as-

sembled by the President anS Ihe matter laid before them.
The question was debated futilely for a day, and then
Morgan of Kansas, one of the leaders of the Senate, rose.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “we are not the ones to decide
this question. We can only reach one decision, for our
execution cn masse is demanded as one of the terms of
surrender. Despite what any one may say, a vote here
would result in an almost, if not quite, unanimous de-
cision to fight. I move that the President be directed to
disregard the constitution in this emergency and call for
a nationwide ballot on Wednesday to decide the matter.”

The motion was passed by acclamation and the Presi-
dent’s call for a general ballot of the nation went out.
The rest of the world held its breath and it was tacitly
understood that the action of the richest and most pow-
erful nation would be followed by the rest. The mili-
tary heads of the nations worked night and day per-
fecting defense plans for use in case resistance was
decided on, while government heads kept their private
aircraft in readiness for a hurried flight, should the bal-
lot ask for submission.

Wednesday broke bright and clear. The balloting was
to start at 7 :(X) A. M. and at 6 :30, the Soviet craft ap-
peared over New York, Chicago, Detroit and Phila-
delphia. They made no hostile move but showered tons
of reading matter down on the cities and then moved
on to other population centers to repeat the performance.
The polls closed at 4:00 o’clock and all through the
night thousands of anxious tellers counted the ballots.
Connecticut was the first state to report complete re-
turns. Shortly after midnight the Governor radioed to
the President, “Connecticut votes one hundred and seven
thousand, nine hundred and three for defense, one thous-
and, two hundred and four for yielding.” State after
state reported similar results and at noon Thursday, the
President was able to announce that ninety of the ninety-,
one states had voted for defense and that the total vote
was over eighty to one against acceptance of Russia’s
terms.

It was considered certain that Russia had secret agents
in the United States, and that no censorship could pre-
vent Leningrad from learning the results of the ballot,
so no attempt was made toward secrecy and the results
of the American ballot were broadcast on the general
wavelength. A meeting of the military and naval heads
of the United States, the British Empire, the South
American Union, the Chino-Japanese Empire and the
Confederate States of Europe was called at Honolulu
and all of the smaller nations were invited to attend.
The Chief of Staff of the United States presided.

The first step was the formation of the High Com-
mand. The South American Union insisted that the pre-
siding officer be made supreme commander, but General
Diesen refused the honor. He pointed out that strategical
and not political factors .should govern and nominated
Field Marshal Van Hornung of the State of Haolland for
the office. His choice was passed by acclamation. Secre-
tary of the Treasury Melville of the United States was
given charge of the financial operations incident to the
war.

F ield marshal van hornung ordered

every anti-aircraft gun of the allied nations to b«
assembled near their population centers and served .with
radite shells. The aircraft were ordered to be held in
readiness for the Marshal’s orders at the airports and
in addition to the radite shells and bullets with which

492

AMAZING STORIES

they were normally supplied, he ordered that the bombers
be laden with vacite and uranite bombs from the
central storehouse at Berne. These powerful engines of
destruction had never been used and had, by common
consent of the nations, been placed in storage at Berne
and guarded by an international police force.

Both operated on the principle of the disintegration of
the atom. The vacite bombs destroyed the air and would
produce a complete vacuum for several hundreds of
yards around their place of explosion or “point of burst,”
and it was confidently expected that they would destroy
any aircraft within the radius of their action. Uranite
was a substance somewhat allied to the common radite,
but immensely more powerful. Its action was to start
a progressive atomic disintegration in anything other
than air with which it came in contact. It operated only
under the influence of light and so could be safely handled
and stored in lightproof containers.

By Friday night everything was in readiness. Early
Saturday morning a Polish air-scout reported the Rus-
sian squadron as crossing Warsaw at a height of ninety
thousand feet and headed east at a speed of fifteen hun-
dred miles an hour. The Russians ignored Europe and
even the crowded purlieus of London and winged their
way across the Atlantic, followed at forty thousand feet
by thousands of European aircraft under the personal
command of Van Hornung.

When the Soviet fleet reached New York, they sailed
around over the city at an altitude of one hundred
thousand feet as if to show the allied air navies that
they could accomplish their purpose without exposing
themselves. Van Hornung ground his teeth and swore,
and shaking his fist toward the sombre craft, he dared
them to come within range of his guns.

As though they heard the challenge and wished to
show their contempt of the puny efforts of their assail-
ants, slowly and majestically the four invaders dropped
to the level of the other craft. Lower^and lower they
came, firing not a shot to oppose the storm of radite
shells that was being hurled at them. At the five thous-
and foot level they took up their line formation.

At a signal from the Field Marshal, the allied fleets
ceased firing and four huge Muhlenberg bombers rose
sluggishly into the air. Up they went until they gained
an altitude well above the Russians, and then they
moved forward and took up their stations, one over
each of the invaders. The Soviet craft dropped no
bombs and did not fire a shot to oppose them, but waited
motionless in the air for the attack.

A signal flew from the Field Marshal’s ship and from
each of the bombers fell a two-thousand-pound vacite
bomb. Quickly the bombs gained momentum and fell
straight toward the Russian fleet. The aim of the
bombers was true and each bomb exploded a few feet
above the craft at which it was aimed. The allied fleet
watched with bated- breath, but, instead of falling to de-
struction as had been expected, the invaders were not
even shaken. A terrific clap of thunder sounded as the
air rushed in to fill the vacuum created by the bombs
and several of the allied fleet narrowly escaped destruc-
tion, but the Soviet fleet was no more affected than they
bad been by the rain of radite shells.

“Useless!” ga.sped Van Hornung. “Tell one of the
bombers to drop a uranite bomb. It is our only chance !”

In response to the signals, three of the Muhlenbergs
drew off while the fourth rose a thousand feet and from
the higher elevation dropped a uranite bomb. The aim

was perfect again and the terrible engine of destruction
hurtled down, rapidly increasing its velocity. Just
above the Russian ship it exploded, scattering the flam-
ing uranite in all directions. The Field Marshal watched
with straining eyes and a prayer on his lips. The fabric
of the doomed ship should have shivered and dissolved
in a burst of flame, leaving no trace in a few moments
of its existence, but no such thing happened. The flam-
ing uranite dropped slowly toward the ground, dissipating
its energy in whorls of light. One of the shooting specks
struck a French aerostat, which had incautiously ven-
tured too close, and in a few moments the luckless ship
and its crew ceased to exist. The Russian ship remained
stationary and unharmed.

“God pity New York when that stuff lands,” mut-
tered the Communications Ofificer of the allied flagship.

“It will dissipate its energy in three thousand feet of
fall in this sunlight,” replied Van Hornung. "Were it
not for that fact, I should never have dared to use it.”

The Russian ship remained motionless.

“What are they waiting for?” exclaimed the Field
Marshal.

As if in answer to his question, the communicator
disc of the flagship began to glow. The Communications
Officer pressed a key and a voice spoke. '

“The Commander of the fleet of the Russian Union of
Soviet Republics presents his compliments to the Com-
mander of the Allied fleets and would like to know
whether he has exhausted his resources.”

“Don’t answer him,” cried Van Hornung.

“If he has other attempts on us that he would like to
make,” went on the voice, “we will remain motionless
and allow him to make them before we start our bomb-
ing. I wish to assure him that we will give him every
chance, for we wish him and the whole world to know
how helpless they are against us. Unless we are re-
quested to remain in position for a new attack, we will
commence bombing in five minutes.”

“Ask them to stand by for a new attack,” snapped the
Field Marshal. “Send a general call to the fleet for an
officer in a one-man cabin aerostat to volunteer for ab-
solutely certain death.”

The call went out and a dozen answers came in. The
Field Marshal selected a Japanese flyer and ordered him
alongside for secret instructions. In a few minutes a
one-man Takasi, an aerostat, came up and the beady-eyed
pilot saluted and requested orders.

F rom the flagship he proceeded to one of the Muhlen-
bergs where a uranite bomb was loaded into his
machine. With his deadly load on board, he rose and
hovered over the nearest Russian ship. He decreased the
speed of his elevating fans and gently as a feather he
settled toward the Russian. Lower and lower he went
until he was only a few feet from the top of it. Here
his downward motion stopped as though he had struck
solid ground. His elevation fans ceased to turn, but
still he remained poised a few feet above the huge black
monster. Then he performed a deed that ranked for-
ever the name of Hamashuri Kuriki among the immor-
tals. Deliberately he detonated the bomb which he car-
ried. His ship disappeared in a flash of light and spirals
of flaming uranite flew in every direction, but the Rus-
sian was unharmed. The Field Marshal groaned.

“There is nothing more that I can do,” he said in a
heart-broken voice. “Send out the orders for a general
retreat and order New York to keep under cover.”

THE RED PERIL

493

maneuvered, dropping their bombs at regular intervals.
Manhattan, Brooklyn, Hoboken and Newark were
bombed in turn. When the entire area had been cov-
ered, the fleet rose rapidly and the voice of the Russian
Commander spoke again.

“We have finished our task for today,” he said. “Forty-
eight hours from now, you will understand this attack.
One more week is allowed the world in which to come to
terms. Unless submissions are received by that time,
on next Saturday we will bomb London and Paris and
go on at once with attacks on other large population
centers.”

“Let us descend and examine the bomb fragments,”
said Van Hornung.

The flagship dropped toward the ground, but before

landed, the communicator spoke again.

“This is General Diesen, Marshal,” said a voice. “The

The enemy craft remained
motionless in the air, waiting
for the attack

As the allied fleet slowly and sullenly drew off, the
voice of the Russian Commander spoke again in Van
Hornung’s cabin.

“Thank you. Field Marshal,” it said ironically. “You
will now be the witness to a modern first-class bombing
of an undefended city. If you care to stand by to study
the technique, I give you my word that you will not be
harmed.”

As the voice ceased, a signal flew from one of the
Soviet craft and simultaneously four bombs fell toward
the doomed city. The Field Marshal hid his face in his
hands while tears rolled down his cheeks. The Com-
munications Officer watched the bombs through a field
glass.

“They’re duds. Marshal !” he exclaimed suddenly.

Van Hornung grasped the proffered field glasses and
looked downward at the city. Each bomb had burst when
it had fallen, but instead of the flaming horror of uranite,
nothing resulted from the burst but a puff of fine dust.
The bombs were dust loaded as were the ones which the
Ru.ssians had launched on their first attack.

Forward and back across the city the Russian fleet

494 AMAZING

Surgeon General of the United States Army witnessed
the bombing by television and he believes that a disease
germ offensive has been launched. The President re-
quests that you release the American flyers from your
command in order that a rigid quarantine may be en-
forced until the matter is settled.”

The death and disease rate in New York were normal
on Saturday and Sunday, but on Monday morning the
communicators all over the world began to glow, and the
authorities of the hapless city were begging for serums.
An exceptionally severe form of lobar pneumonia had
broken out all over the metropolitan area. At six A. M.
two hundred thousand cases had been reported. By ten
the number had grown to over a million, and by noon the
task of trying to keep track of the number of the
stricken was abandoned. Practically the whole popula-
tion had contracted the disease and appeals flew far and
wide for doctors and nurses, but above all for serums,
the only thing that would save the city.

The world’s supply was rushed to New York and the
laboratories everywhere strove with their crippled supply
of rodents to keep pace with the demand. The amount
available was pitifully inadequate, for anti-pneumonia
serum would not store, and in order to be of value must
not be over forty-eight hours old. Every laboratory kept
a stock on hand, making it fresh daily, but the whole
supply that could be located was less than a half a mil-
lion tubes. Had the normal supply of guinea pigs been
on hand, there would have been hope, but it was soon
evident that seventy-five percent of the population of the
infected area was doomed.

The leading surgeons of the world gathered at The
Hague to discuss the problem, but nothing resulted, and
at the end of the week it was evident that, were the Rus-
sians to carry out their threat and bomb the other popu-
lation centers, nothing could save them. A hurried ex-
odus took place from London and Paris. The conference
of surgeons adjourned with the words of Zitali of Flor-
ence echoing in their ears.

“Gentlemen,” the fiery savant had said, “there is only
one hope. The tularemia, which is rapidly eliminating
the rodents from the world, has not been checked. Even
were we to check it to-morrow, it would take years of
breeding to supply our needs. Devote your entire ener-
gies to finding some animal which you can substitute for
the tiny rodents we have been using.

“There is but one man I know who could solve the
problem, and that is Balinsky. Before he threw in his
lot, heart and soul, with his country, he did even more
wonderful things, and I know the man well enough to be
sure that he has not turned the plagues of tularemia and
pneumonia loose on the world without having a card up
his sleeve which would solve the problem. Were he on
our side, I would rest easy. If we only had Balinsky.

“Do your best, gentlemen. There is a solution, if you
can find it. If you can find an animal that will replace
the rodents we do not have, we may yet successfully com-
bat the contagion. If you do not ” His silence was

eloquent.

Among the physicians leaving the conference was a
fiery-eyed young zealot from the smitten city of New
York, named Boris Vestoff. As a child he had escaped
with his parents from Russia and had taken refuge in
New York, where his sister had been born and where his
parents had died, as an aftermath of the starvation they
had met with in Russia before they escaped. Boris

STORIES

Vestoff had followed his father's profession of surgery,,
and young as he was, his reputation was good, and many
an older man envied him his skill and his prominence.

H e had escaped the contagion which held the city of
his adoption in its grip and he had come to the con-
ference to tell the world of the terrible things he had
seen. He had seen his colleagues drop like flies and die
almost unattended, for there were more sick than well,
and those who were stricken were forced to do for them-
selves or to die neglected. His heart had ached with the
dolor of stricken humanity and then, when it seemed that
he had no more heart-strings to rend, he had seen the
nurse in whom his whole future was wrapped sicken and
droop. She had been at death’s door when he had given
her the small immunization dose which all unstricken
surgeons were supposed to take daily. It had checked
the progress of the disease, but it was too small to cure,
and when he had steeled his heart and left her to attend
the meeting at the call of duty, it was with every expec-
tation that by leaving her, he had sealed her death war-
rant.

As he left the room his eyes burned like hot coals and
he murmured to himself, “Balinsky — if we only had
Balinsky.” He climbed into the speedy two-passenger
Spadile flyer, which the government had placed at his
service, and split the air at top speed back toward New
York, muttering again and again to himself, “Balinsky —
if we only had Balinsky.”

A different sort of a conference was taking place
meanwhile in Saint Louis. Field Marshal Van Hornung
had summoned the military and naval chiefs of the world
to meet with the leading scientists and electricians to
attack the problem of preventing future raids.

“Gentlemen,” he said when the conference had assem-
bled and its purpose had been made clear, “this whole
matter is beyond my experience. I was a young man
when the last war was fought in 1914 to 1918 and I saw
then the first crude aircraft that battled overhead. I
early saw the future of the sky warrior and I have for
four decades advised my country and later my state to
concentrate on newer and more powerful types. I am
called the greatest authority in the world on aerial war-
fare, yet I confess myself to be helpless. A ship that
has no apparent ceiling, that cannot he harmed by gun-
fire and that is impervious to vacite and even to uranite,
is beyond my comprehension. I have seen and yet I can-
not believe. To you gentlemen I turn for wisdom. How
is it done?”

Professor Olsen of the University of Stockholm rose.
“Your Excellency,” he said, “that it is a conquest of
the forces of nature beyond the experiences of all pres-
ent goes without saying. Which force it is they have
mastered, I am not sure, but I believe it to be mag-
netism.”

“Isn’t it more likely to be gravity?” asked an Admiral
of France.

Professor Olsen smiled.

“Gravity or magnetism, call it which you will,” he
replied. “As long ago as 1929, Einstein proved that
magnetism and gravity obey the same laws. A few years
later, LaRue proved experimentally the identity of the
two forces and showed that gravity was merely an ex-
tension and generalization of the force of which mag-
netism is one localized effect. It is my opinion that the
Russians have learned some method of either screening

THE RED PERIL

495

or neutralizing the gravity or magnetism of the earth, or
of producing a magnetic field of their own of opposite
polarity to the earth force of enormous local power.
That is the only explanation that I can give.”

“But what is gravity?” persisted the Admiral.

Professor Olsen shrugged his shoulders.

“You ask a question that no one can answer,” he re-
plied. “We know the effects and manifestations of grav-
ity and the laws which it obeys, but as to what it is, no
one can tell you.”

“I can !” broke out a voice from the rear of the hall.

All heads turned toward the interrupter. A young
man in the uniform of an aide to the Chief of Staff of
the United States Army was on his feet.

“I can tell you what gravity is !” cried the Aide.

“Silence!” “Order!” “Put him out!” an excited
chorus rose in the hall. General Diesen struggled to his
feet.

“May I beg to be heard?” he cried.

Field Marshal Van Hornung rapped smartly on the
table. When order had been restored, he turned to Gen-
eral Diesen.

“What is it. General ?” he asked.

“I would like to beg that my aide be given a hearing.
Major Hamilton is a young man and, since all of his ex-
perimental work has been done in the army, he is not
well known, but when I tell you that we consider him as
our leading authority on wave motions and that he de-
veloped the portable television projector, which we are
now using, you will realize that his talents demand a
hearing.”

“The conference will listen to Major Hamilton,” ruled
the Field Marshal. “Major, can you tell us what grav-
ity is?”

“I think that I can, sir,” replied the Aide, “but I must
request your close attention and a minimum of interrup-
tion until I finish. Then I will be willing to answer
questions. I believe that gravity is a wave motion.”

“Bosh!” cried a voice. Field Marshal Van Hornung
was on his feet in an instant.

“If there is another interruption of that sort, the in-
terrupter will be dealt with under military discipline,” he
thundered. “When Major Hamilton has finished, you
will be allowed to express your approval or your disap-
proval. Until then we will have silence.”

The drop of a pin would have been clearly audible in
the hall. Major Hamilton resumed.

“ ANY motion, for example the passage of a body on a
./X horizontal plane before an observer, will produce
disturbances. These disturbances, so far as present sci-
ence knows, are two in number : first, the disturbance of
air particles in the immediate vicinity of the motion, and,
second, a disturbance in the ether, that imponderable
fluid which is assumed to fill all space and to permeate all
substance.

“Provided that the disturbances are periodic, that is,
that they come at regularly repeated intervals, both of
these disturbances will be simple harmonic wave motions
and subject to the well-known laws governing such mo-
tions. In each case the wave will have, besides an ampli-
tude, a frequency and a length, the product of which will
be a constant. This constant for the disturbances of air
is approximately 1,140 foot-seconds, the velocity of
sound in air. The product in ether di.sturbances is
approximately 186,000 mile-seconds, the velocity of light.

“If, for the sake of illustration, we assume that we
have a machine gun set up, firing bullets across a line
directly in front of our eyes, and assume further that
these bullets will always be equidistant ^om one another,
no matter what the velocity of them may be, it is easily
seen that the frequency of the disturbances will be pro-
portional to the velocity at which the bullets are travel-
ing, and the wave length inversely proportional to that
velocity.

“We will start our gun firing with a velocity of four
feet per second and assume that the bullets are one foot
apart, a distance which is to be rigidly maintained, re-
gardless of the subsequent velocity which we may assume
them to be traveling at. Is my meaning clear? This is
an important point.”

“As I understand it,” said the Admiral, “the bullets
are to be always one foot apart, so that if you say the
velocity has been increased to one hundred feet per sec-
ond, we are to assume that the gun is then firing one
hundred shots per second and so on.”

“Precisely,” said Major Hamilton. “We are starting
with a velocity of four feet per second, so that as the
bullets are one foot apart, there will be four disturbances
per second. As the velocity is such that the eye can
readily retain the impression, a stream of bullets will be
plainly seen passing in front of the eye. No sound will
be heard because the period of frequency of the sound
wave generated is below the perception of the auditory
nerves. No light will be seen because tbe frequency of
the etheric disturbances is below the perceptive faculty of
the optic nerve. A glass plate placed in the path of the
bullets will be shattered, the cracks radiating from the
point of strike in all directions.

“Suppose now that we increase the velocity so that two
hundred and fifty-six per second pass a given point. As
the Admiral pointed out, the gun will then te firing two
hundred and fifty-six times per second and the bullets
will still be one foot apart. The velocity of these bullets
has now risen so high that the eye can no longer perceive
them by direct vision and the frequency of the etheric
disturbances is not yet high enough to affect the eye. As
far as sight is concerned, these bullets are now non-
existent. However, there will be perceptible to the ear a
sound note, continuous and sustained, in pitch, middle
‘C,’ as the air particles vibrate two hundred and fifty-
six times per second. A plate of glass placed in the path
of the bullets will, in all probability, have a small hole in
it with cracks radiating from the hole in all directions,
but the plate will not be shattered.

“Let us now gradually increase the velocity until
twenty thousand bullets per second pass a given point.
The sound note heard by the ear is gradually increased
in pitch until it is a shrill scream, barely audible ; in fact,
some ears could not hear it. A sheet of glass placed in
the path of these bullets would have a perfectly clean,
round hole drilled in it, as if it had been filed, and sparks
would be seen to fly from the point of impact.

“Suppose that we double the velocity so that forty
thousand bullets per second pass before the eye? The
sound note has now risen to such a shrill pitch that the
ear cannot detect it, while the frequency of the etheric
vibrations has not yet risen to a sufficiently high figure to
be discerned. To both the eye and the ear, these bullets
are non-existent, although the glass plate placed in front
of them would show the same phenomena as before.

“Since the air vibrations have risen to such a pitch that

496

AMAZING STORIES

they cannot be detected, the air no longer serves its pur-
pose as a medium for perception. Therefore, in order to
eliminate the enormous friction which would exist be-
tween the air and a body traveling at such a velocity, let
us consider the air to be exhausted and the bullets to be
passing through a perfect vacuum. By perfect vacuum I
mean a vacuum containing ether and nothing else.

“Again increase the velocity until one hundred and
fifty thousand bullets per second are passing before the
eye. No evidence can be found by either the eye or the
ear that these bullets are in existence. However, the
etheric disturbances have now risen to such a pitch that
if a radio receiver be tuned in, it will register a wave
with a wave length of about two thousand meters. If a
glass plate were now placed in the path of these bullets,
a very clean hole would be drilled in it, and on examining
the hole you would find that the portion of the glass con-
tiguous to it had been fused by the enormous friction of
the bullets rubbing against it.

“Let us now enormously increase the velocity until
millions of bullets per second are passing. The wave
length has now grown so short that the radio receiver
will no longer register a note, but if a lens be placed in
such a manner as to concentrate any emanation from the
bullets’ path and at the focal point of the lens, a thermo-
couple attached to a pyrometer or to a galvanometer be
placed, the instrument will register. This shows that
the etheric vibrations have risen to a high enough fre-
quency to produce an infra-red ray. The infra-red rays
are heat rays of a length just below the visible spectrum.

“ T NCREASE the velocity again, and a dull red glow in
A the path of the bullets will be seen by the naked eye,
as the frequency of the etheric vibrations rises to a point
where they will affect the optic nerve. If a glass plate be
now placed in the path of the bullets, the glass will simply
disapi)ear, the material being made liquid by the enor-
mous heat generated and flowing over the surface of each
bullet in turn and adhering to it.

“Once more increase the velocity, and the dull red
beam of light will change in succession to orange, yellow,
green, blue, indigo, and violet, through the visible spec-
trum. After the violet fades out, the eye can no longer
perceive these bullets, and they are forevermore non-
existent so far as the eye and the ear can determine.

“Let us, however, fix a camera with a rock crystal
lens focused on the path of the bullets and it will be
found that the rays given off are ultra-violet and will
affect a photographic plate.

“If the velocity be still further increased, there will
come a time when the plate will be affected even through
a sheet of black paper, as the frequency has risen so high
that the waves have changed from ultra-violet to X-rays.
A gla,ss plate placed in the path of the bullets will still
show the phenomena of simple disappearance and fusion
around the point of strike.

“Again enormously increase the velocity and we will
find that the bullets give off the cosmic rays which we
can detect and measure. Beyond this stage, no matter
how much we increase the velocity, neither the eye nor
the ear, the radio receiver, the pyrometer nor the photo-
graphic plate can detect their passage. As far as we
appeal to any experimental evidence which we can de-
tect, these bullets no longer exist.

“Now for a final step let us increase the velocity of
these bullets until their velocity is infinite, that is, until

it is greater than any finite value that can be assigned to
it. An infinite number per second will now^be passing
before the eye and the frequency will be infinite. As a
result, the wave length of the resulting etheric disturb-
ance will be zero. There is no known method of deter-
mining the existence of these bullets, and a glass plate
placed in their path will show nothing. The molecules
of the plate will merely open in front of the bullet and
close in behind them. Each bullet from a mass has dis-
integrated into molecules, then into atoms, then into
protons and electrons and then in turn into pure motion,
which cannot be detected with any instrument which we
have been able to devise.

“As to what the nature of this beam of energy would
be, I leave it to your judgment. If my argument has
been logical and coherent, you know already. However,
I will remind you that it is well known that there is one
enormous force existent in the universe who.se nature is
still more or less a matter of conjecture. That force
is ”

“Gravity 1” cried Professor Olsen, who had followed
the argument with rapt interest.

“Precisely,” replied Major Hamilton, “and therefore!
by the process of elimination, I have arrived at the con-
clusion that gravity is nothing more nor less than pure
motion or force unassociated with matter; in other
words, a wave motion with a wave length of zero.”

A burst of applause greeted him as he paused.

“Of course, if you are right and gravity is a wave
motion, a screen could be made which it could not pene-
trate,” said Professor Olsen. “Your theory, then, is
that the black bottom of the Russian shi])s is composed
of some substance that intercepts gravity.”

“No,” replied the Major, “it is not. Consider for a
moment the density of a screen that a wave motion of
zero wave length could not penetrate. It would have to
have a density of infinity.”

“Certainly,” replied the Professor, “but a density of
infinity seems no more fantastic to me than a wave length
of zero.”

“Pardon me, gentlemen,” broke in the Field Marshal,
“I am not a profound scientist like you gentlemen, and
it is not at once clear to me why the density of such a
screen would have to be infinity. Will you kindly ex-
plain?”

Major Hamilton turned to Professor Olsen.

“Will you explain, sir ?” he asked. “I am about talked
out.”

“Gladly,” replied the Professor. “I will try to put it
in non-technical language. Of course, the shorter the
wave length, the closer together must be the ))articles of
the screen which can interrupt it. To borrow from
Major Hamilton’s excellent word picture; if we disre-
gard, as he did, all media of transmission other than air
and ether, a wave motion in the sound range could be
stopped by tissue paper. If you can conceive of such a
thing, conceive two concentric spheres of tissue paper
separated by a vacuum with yourself inside the inner
sphere. The tissue paper would stop the sound wave.
When we get to the shorter waves, denser media are re-
quired. Thus aluminum will stop light waves, but it
will not stop X-rays. Lead, which is much denser than
aluminum, will stop X-rays, but is permeable to the cos-
mic ray. I will not enter into the complex mathematics
involved, but suffice it to say that it is readily demon-
strable through an extension of the permeability curves

THE RED PERIL

497

which connect density, wave length and depth of pene-
tration, that it would require a screen of infinite density
to stop a wave of zero wave length.”

“But why should it be impossible to make a screen of
infinite density?” persisted the Field Marshal. “Is it
not possible that these ships are thus equipped?”

“It is not possible, and I can prove to you by experi-
mental evidence which you have seen that they are not
so equipped,” replied Major Hamilton. “In the first
place, if a gravity screen were perfected, it would shut
off all gravity above it to an infinite distance. In such a
case, any aircraft which ascended above the screen would
shoot off into space. No such phenomenon was observed.
In the second place, no matter how small it was, such a
screen would rapidly exhaust all atmosphere from the
earth. The air above it would fly off into space and the
surrounding air would rush in to fill the vacuum thus
formed and would in turn be projected off. The mere
fact that we can still breathe is a positive proof against
the existence of a gravity screen.”

“Then what is your explanation?” asked Professor
Olsen.

“Simply this,” said the Major. “The Russians have
found a method of developing an artificial field of gravi-
tational force of immense but purely local effect. With
this they neutralize the gravity of the earth, not by shut-
ting it off, but by opposing it with a greater and opposite
force. Such a field of force would also account for the
fact that we are unable to lodge uranite or any other sub-
stance on them. This field of force is sufficiently power-
ful to repel matter of all sorts.”

“Your whole argument holds together well,” admitted
Professor Olsen. “The only thing left for you to do is
to tell us how you propose to neutralize this field of force
to such an extent that we can reach them with explo-
sives.”

“My proposed solution is this. In order to generate
a force of zero wave lengths and consequently infinite
frequency, a generator would have to be employed which
revolves at an infinite rate. Such a thing I cannot con-
ceive. However, we all know that it is a very simple
matter to step a frequency of, say, sixty cycles up to two
hundred thousand cycles. It is my belief that a primary
power is generated by generators turned by atomic en-
gines and is generated at a high but perfectly finite fre-
quency. and is then stepped up by some apparatus which
we do not understand to a frequency of infinity.

“Matter, as we have found, cannot pass through their
field. However, it is well known that wave motions not
only will pass through other wave motions but will also
superimpose on one another. This superimposition, in
the case of equal wave lengths, produces alternate bands
of double intensity and absolute rest. If the interfering
waves are light waves, the result is a series of alternate
bauds of light and dark which you have all seen in the
interferometer. Again, if we can produce a wave of
exactly the same frequency and place it in space half a
wave distant, the result is complete rest, a phenomenon
which you have all seen in physics laboratories where one
sound is killed by another.

“If my theories are correct, the way to combat these
machines is to build a generator which will produce a
wave motion of very great frequency. This frequency
must be capable of being varied within wide limits. If
we mount this generator on an aerostat and approach one
of these monsters, we may be able to tune the generator

to the same wave length as their primary source of
power. If we do, we can neutralize it by interference
and stop their motive power.”

“And the result would be?”

“That their field of antigravitational force would be
neutralized and they would crash to the ground, or if we
wished, they could be destroyed in the air by gun fire or
uranite bombs.”

“Major Hamilton, can you build such a generator?”
asked the Field Marshal.

“I believe that I can, if I am given a free rein with
both materials and assistants.”

“And, by thunder, young fellow,” exclaimed Professor
Olsen, “I’ll go along and help you if you’ll let me.”

AS Major Hamilton and Professor Olsen left the
X\. conference with full powers to take over the plant
of the General Electric Company at Schenectady and
use its facilities to develop the generator which the for-
mer had proposed, a two-passenger cabin Spadile aero-
stat rose from New York. In the driver’s seat sat
Boris Vestoff and beside him sat his sister, a strikingly
handsome woman in the late twenties. The aircraft
rose without lights and cautiously moved over the city
at a low altitude. Quietly as the atomic engine ran, there
was no way of stilling the etheric disturbance which it
made and before the Spadile had reached the limits of
the city, an aerial patrol swooped down from a higher
altitude, its searchlight blazing.

“Down, Boris,” said the girl softly.

Vestoff stopped his propeller and slowed his elevating
fans. Obediently the little craft sank toward the earth,
but the quarantine patrol was not thus to be dodged.
The radiolite indicators of the instrument panel sud-
denly began to glow and Vestoff knew that his craft was
in the beam of tbe powerful ultraviolet searchlight with
which the scout was equipped. Simultaneously the disc
of his communicator began to glow. Vestoff cursed
softly and depressed his key.

“Wait a minute,” said a sharp voice. “Who are you
and where are you going?”

“I am Boris Vestoff, QSR-664-L-22,” he replied.
“I am on my way to Washington to report to the
President of the United States on the conference of
surgeons held at The Hague. Didn’t you get the word
to clear the ways for me?”

“I beg your pardon. Doctor,” replied the voice. “I
received no such orders. I did have orders passed on
to me, that you were to have right of way this morning
when you were returning from the conference, but I
received no other word. I presume that you haye a
clearance slip from the general in command?”

“Certainly,” replied the doctor sharply. “Do you
want to see it?”

“If you don’t mind. Doctor.”

“Certainly I don’t mind, but I will have to ask you
to indorse the time and your name and identification on
it, in order that you may answer for stopping a craft
with a governmental clearance, when it is answering
an urgent call.”

“Your right-of-way light isn’t going. Doctor,” said
the voice reproachfully.

“Of course not. Since when have private craft been
equipped with right-of-way lamps? Hurry up and
come alongside if you wish to see my credentials and
please turn that confounded ultrasearchlight off. I
don’t want to be blistered to-morrow.”

498

AMAZING STORIES

"I beg your pardon, Doctor, I didn’t mean to burn
you. I’ll be alongside in a moment.”

The headphones of the sound-locater were clamped to
Ilga’s ears. As the voice of the patrol commander died
out, the instruments ceased to glow as the ultrasearch
of the scout was snapped off.

“They’re dropping,” said the girl. “Now their pro-
peller is off. Now, Boris !”

Vestoff threw the clutch of his propeller in gear and
shoved his indicator to maximum speed forward. The
propellers of his little craft churned the air for a
moment and then the Spadile shot forward like a bullet.

“Hold tight, Ilga,” he cried and thrust fhe lever con-
trolling his elevating fans forward to maximum. The
ship split the air at a speed in excess of two thousand
miles an hour while it climbed at the rate of a mile in
twenty seconds. Vestoff kept his eyes on the instru-
ment board.

“They are climbing as fast as we are, Boris,” said
the girl, “and they are heading almost directly toward
us.”

Suddenly the instruments of the Spadile began to
glow and Vestoff stopped his engines and let the little
craft fall like a rock toward the distant sea. In a
moment they were out of the beam from the ultra-
searchlight. Again he turned on both elevating fans and
propeller and turned the craft at a right angle to their
former line of flight. He maintained the new course
for eighty seconds and then swung left into his old
course.

“We gained a_ good deal that time,” said the girl.

Again the instrument board began to glow, albeit
faintly. Vestoff did not touch his engines but pulled a
horizontal rudder and the craft shot upward. He
changed course instantly to the left and shot down like
a bullet. Ten thousand feet below his previous level
he straightened out into his old course and tore out
across the Atlantic.

“They are a.lmost out of hearing,” said the girl.

"We are out of searchlight range,” replied her broth-
er. “We are safe now unless they can get hold of one
of the Atlantic Patrol and have us headed off.”

“We’ll have to take that chance,” she answered.

“It’s not such a big chance at that,” he said. “The
heavy seagoing cruisers can’t hold up to the speed of a
Spadile and unless they were almost directly in front
of us, we could avoid them. Keep the locator trained
ahead and listen for elevating fans.”

Ilga swung the locator around as her brother directed
and the tiny craft tore on through the night.

Northeast it bore for an hour and then Vestoff turned
cast. Despite the heating of the cabin, both he and his
sister felt the cold as their craft swung around on a
great circle north of Iceland and the White Sea. Vestoff
watched the map unrolling on his instrument board
before him, a tiny spot of white light marking the
location of the ship. When the map indicated that they
were due north of the Kola Peninsula, he swung the
ship’s head to the south and bore down toward Lenin-
grad, at the same time reducing his speed to five
hundred miles an hour.

A n hour of steady going brought him within two
. hundred miles of the Russian capital and he de-
creased his speed to a hundred miles an hour and waited
for a challenge from an outlying patrol. Presently the
radiolite dials on his instrument board began to glow

and Vestoff stopped his propeller and allowed his ship
to drift. The button of his indicator glowed and he
pressed his key and waited for the challenge.

“Who are you and what is your mission?” asked a
gruff voice in Russian.

“I am Sergius Karnoff of New York, United States,”
he replied, “and my companion is my sister. We have
fled from the tyranny of the rulers and seek refuge in
the sun of liberty.”

“By what authority have you come?” demanded the
voice.

"Under the general invitation of the Commissar for
Foreign Affairs.”

“That invitation was rescinded two years ago.”

“True, but we fled in the darkness from our op-
pressors and we seek relief and shelter at your hands.”

“Is your aerostat armed?”

“No.”

“Then remain where you are, while I ask for instruc-
tions.”

In a few moments the voice spoke again.

“You are to be brought before the Officer of the
Guard for examination,” it said. “Have you an ultra-
searchlight ?”

“No, this is a pleasure craft and not a war machine.”

“Then remain where you are until I get within sight.
Turn on your lights.”

Vestoff snapped a switch and a beam of light stabbed
the darkness before him. In a few moments the shape
of a ten-man patrol ship swam into view.

“Follow me closely and land beside me,” said the
voice. “What is your best speed?”

“This is a Spadile racer.”

“Oh ! Then I’ll take you along at a good clip. Don’t
run past me.”

In twenty minutes the Spadile landed beside the patrol
ship and the officer in command came over with a
detail of men.

“Follow me, comrades,” he said.

Vestoff and his sister stepped out of their ship, which
was immediately taken in charge by two of the Russians,
and followed the officer. He led the way to a dimly
lighted building and knocked at the door.

“Remain here until I return,” he said.

In a few moments he returned and with a curt, “Fol-
low me,” he led the way inside.

Ilga and her brother found themselves face to face
with a dark heavy-set man in a colonel’s uniform.
Vestoff brought his heels together and saluted. The
colonel smiled approvingly.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” he
asked.

Vestoff briefly repeated the story that he had already
told the scout officer while the colonel listened closely.

“You are welcome,” he said when Vestoff had fin-
ished. “Of course, you will have to appear before the
Commissar of Secret Police and satisfy him, but that
may not be difficult, especially as I can readily smooth
the way for you. You are a doctor?”

“I was a research fellow in serumology in Bellevue
Hospital.”

“Good, we can find use for you. Has the girl any
special knowledge?”

“None.”

“All the better. She is better looking than the avers^e
and she pleases me. I will take her for my wife. As
my brother-in-law, the Commissar of Police will not

THE RED PERIL

so readily suspect you. You may go now and the
orderly will find you a place to sleep. The girl will
remain here.”

Ilga drew herself up haughtily.

“So your royal highness plans to do me the extreme
honor to takte me for his wife, does he?” she said with
a scornful laugh. “I have heard that in free Russia
women were allowed to choose their own mates.”

“They are,” exclaimed the colonel in surprise. “Sure-
ly you do not fancy that you can do better than take
me, a Colonel of the Petrograd Guard? You do not
understand the honor that I am conferring on you.”

“I understand that I have chosen a man already, a
man whose shoes you would call yourself fortunate to be
allowed to shine.”

The red mounted on the colonel’s cheekbones.

“Hold your tongue, hussy, or I will take you for
my woman without the formality of a registration with
the Commissar of Marriages,” he said sharply. “I pre-
sume that you have chosen Zaneff himself for your
mate.”

“I want none of that crippled fool,” said Ilga proudly.

The colonel leaped to his feet.

“Silence, girl,” he roared. “Another word like that
and I will have you thrown into the guard-room to
be shared by the moujiks of the guard.”

“Shall I tell my chosen your words?” she asked
lightly at the threat.

“Your chosen! And who may he be?”

“Balinsky 1”

H ad Ilga suddenly changed into a canary bird before
his eyes, the Colonel could have registered no
greater surprise.

“Balinsky?” he gasped as though he could not believe
her words. “Are you serious ?”

“Not only that but Balinsky is awaiting my arrival.”
“Ilga!” exclaimed her brother warningly.

“Balinsky is head of the Council of Seven, who are
above even the Premier,” gasped the Colonel. “Do you
mean to tell me that he expects you?”

Her brother answered for her.

“May I speak to you for a moment in private?” he
said with a meaning glance at the two guards who stood
Irefore tha door.

The Colonel dismissed the guards with a word and
turned to Vestoff.

“Speak,” he said sharply, “and tell me what this
means.”

“I was one of the agents that Balinsky used in spread-
ing tularemia in the United States,” said Vestoff in an
undertone. “I did not identify myself before, as we al-
ways work under cover. We are not known by face even
to the Conunissar of Secret Police. My sister is one of
Balinsky’s women and she accompanied me. We were
caught in the quarantine and could not escape sooner to
make our report. Lead us at once to him, for I know
that he awaits us.” Suspicion clouded the Colonel’s face.

“If you are one of his trusted men, how is it that you
do not know that he is away with the fleet?”

“I have had no direct communication with him for two
weeks. We were expected long before this, and indeed
we tried to escape last night, but a patrol intercepted us
and we were forced to put back. My orders were to re-
port at once upon arrival. Can the fleet be reached by
communicators ?”

499

“You should know that the communicators are silent
when the fleet is out,” replied the Colonel. “This is Fri-
day night.”

“Of course, and London is to be bombed to-morrow.

I had forgotten the date. You may take us to his palace
and Krelovitch will care for us. If you are still uncer-
tain, Jook over these papers.”

He handed the Colonel papers inscribed in Russian.
The Colonel glanced at them and compared them with
a ^eet of names and numbers that he took from a safe.
As he did so, his face cleared.

“I beg your pardon, comrade,” he said resiiectfully,
“but one cannot be too careful in my position, you know.

I am sorry to tell you that Krelovitch is with the fleet as
well. I will send you to the palace at once and you can
await the arrival of Comrade Balinsky. He should be
back on Wednesday.

“The raid must be more extensive than was first
planned.”

“It is. The fleet will bomb London, Liverpool, Edin-
burgh and Paris to-morrow ; Rome, Constantinople,
Alexandria and Cairo on Sunday ; Calcutta, Delhi, Pekin
and Hongkong on Monday, and Tokio, Manila, Sydney
and Brisbane on Tuesday. On Wednesday they will
take San Francisco, Chicago, Detroit and Philadelphia,
and return that night.”

“That should bring the bourgeoisie to their senses.”

“If it doesn’t, Zaneff plans a systematic extermination
of the people of the United States, as an example. For
these raids, Balinsky is using the same bombs that he
used on New York, because pneumonia can be readily
checked in any country which capitulates. If he has to
comb the United States, he plans on using a form of
tularemia somewhat like the kind he used on the rodents,
and which cannot be checked.”

“Good! That is the way to handle them. Will you
take us to the palace now ? We are tired and would like
to rest.”

“Gladly,” said the Colonel. “Do you know Techni-
koff?”

“No, who is he?”

“He is Balinsky’s new major-domo. I cannot leave
my post, but I will send him a note by an officer
telling him who you are.”

“Thank you. I will mention your name to Balinsky,”

Colonel Dourgieff’s note was enough to reduce
Technikoff to humble submission, and when Vestoff de-
manded a suite of two connecting rooms, it was quickly
supplied. Ilga threw herself upon the bed and looked up
at her brother.

“So far, so good,” she said in an undertone in
English. “It was fortunate that those papers you got
from Karonoff fitted you so well. We would have been
in a hole else.”

“I was almost afraid to use them. Karonoff didn’t
tell me enough before he died to make me feel any too
easy. He was delirious while he was talking to me
and I couldn’t be sure of the accuracy of what infor-
mation I had. Then, too, I was afraid that the colonel
would examine them too clo.sely. I had to make quite
a blur, when I changed them the little I did. but luckily
he only gave them a casual examination and smearing
them with oil did the trick.”

“Are you going to try to do anything before Balin-
sky returns?”

“If opportunity offers, but I am not going to force

500

AMAZING STORIES

matters. Things are going entirely too well. The only
thing that I want to find is that sound-proof room that
he has and find out how to enter it.”

“I may be able to help there.”

“All right, but be careful not to rouse suspicion.”
“I’ll be careful, Boris. Good-night.”

T he air battle of a week before was repeated over
London on Saturday. The Soviet ships stood the
ineffective fire of the Allied fleets with no attempt at
reprisals and then systematically bombed the city and
moved on to Liverpool. The Allied fleets did not fol-
low. There was no use ; the Russians were impregnable.

The balance of the program which Colonel Dourgieff
had outlined was carried out. On Monday the British
Isles were calling frantically to the world for aid in
combating the pneumonia which had broken out, but
their cries were unheeded, for every nation was soon
faced with the same problem. The spirit of the world
was broken and nation after nation sent hurried calls to
Leningrad, announcing their willingness to surrender on
any terms that the Soviets demanded. Only the United
States, the British Empire and the Chino- Japanese
Empire held out, the two former through an inborn
inability to surrender, and the latter through a fatalistic
disregard for human life.

In Schenectady the greatest technicians of the world
toiled night and day on Hamilton’s generator, but as the
manifold difficulties of the task became apparent, they
despaired of accomplishing the feat in time and despair
settled over the country. Even the veteran Field Mar-
shal Van Hornung, who had never surrendered, gave
up hope.

“Even if we destroy them, of what avail will it be?”
he cried in anguish. “Countless millions of lives will be
lost and the plague is spreading more and more rapidly.
Were we to annihilate the monsters, they would still in
death defeat us. It may be better to yield and ask them
to help check the plague.”

“Not while there is a man left in the United States,”
replied the President. “They may wipe us out, but
they’ll never lick us.”

On Wednesday night the victorious Russian fleet re-
turned to Petrograd, their mission accomplished. The
city gave itself up to wild rejoicing (by order of Zaneff),
and when the enormous ships landed, a milling crowd
strove to hoist the crews on their shoulders and carry
them to the city.

Zaneff, surrounded by his guards, pushed his way
through the throng and greeted Balinsky.

“Submissions are coming in from all sides. Comrade,”
he cried. “The world revolution is at hand when we
shall set our feet on the faces of these dogs of bour-
geoisie who have starved us for generations and grind
them into the dirt !”

“SaVe that for publication,” replied Balinsky crisply.
“Is there any outbreak of pneumonia in Leningrad?”
“No more than the usual amount.”

“Good. I was afraid that it might spread from some
of the infected areas, although I kept well away from
the boundaries. Have you received any ambassadors
yet ?”

“I waited until your return. Sergius Karonoff has
returned.”

“Good. I want to hear his report. Did anyone come
with him?”

“His sister.”

“I didn’t know that he had one.”

“Why, she claims to be one of your women!”

“Is she good looking?”

“Very.”

“Then she may be, even if she wasn’t. It’s probably
some girl whom Karonoff picked up in America, whom
he thought I might like and he told that story to protect
her from you.”

Zaneff smiled feebly.

“I would have left her for you,” he said.

“Yes, if you thought that I wanted her,” replied
Balinsky. “Well, I’ll go home and look her over. Notify
the Council of Seven that there will be a meeting at
the palace at nine to-morrow morning, or rather this
morning, for it’s after midnight. You had better wait
in the anteroom when we meet. We may want to ques-
tion you.”

At the palace, Balinsky narrowly questioned Tech-
nikoff.

“His papers were in order. Excellency,” said the
major-domo. “I have never seen him before, but he
knows what you have been- doing and his sister is well
acquainted with the palace.”

“Oh, it’s Karonoff all right,” said Balinsky with a
chuckle. “He has a good eye for feminine beauty, and
he knows enough to keep the best for me. Where are
they ?”

“The girl is in the library. Karonoff went out to see
you arrive.”

“Good. I am going to the library and must not be
disturbed on any pretext for the rest of the night. Tell
Karonoff when he comes in to report to me at eight.”

Balinsky entered the library and looked appraisingly
at Ilga who returned his gaze unflinchingly.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Ilga Vestoff of New York,” she replied with a smile.

“How did you come here?”

“I helped Sergius to elude the quarantine patrol and
as a reward he brought me here with him. I have passed
as his sister and one of your women for protection.”

“Didn’t you know that it is dangerous to lie in Rus-
sia ?”

“T DIDN’T think that I was lying much. I have

X heard that Feodor Balinsky appreciates feminine
beauty and as my sole object in coming here was to
offer myself to him, I did not think that he would re-
fuse. In spirit, I was already one of your women.”

Balinsky threw himself down on a settee.

“Such candor is refreshing,” he said. “What is your
object ?”

“I desire power. How better can I obtain it than by
ruling the man who rules the world? Besides, I know
something that will bind you to me forever.”

“What is that?”

“Do you wish to continue to live?”

The color faded momentarily from Balinsky’s cheeks.

“What do you mean ?” he asked sharply.

“Exactly what I say. Do you wish to continue to
live?”

“Certainly. Why do you ask ?”

“If you do, you must obey me. I know a secret that
will save your life. If I do not speak to save you, you
die.”

Balinsky leaped to his feet.

“Speak !” he cried hoarsely. “Speak or I will call
Technikoff and have the words tortured out of you!”

THE RED PERIL

501

“As I have a glass capsule of cyanide under my tongue
at this moment which I have only to crush with my
teeth to cease to live, torture would not avail you.”

“You would not use it.”

“Do you see this body ?”

Ilga rose and stretched herself languorously. The soft
curves of her body, accentuated by the clinging garb
she had chosen, brought the blood to Balinsky’s face.
He murmured a hoarse assent to her question.

“Do you think that I would care to live with it maimed
and robbed of its beauty?” she asked scornfully. “When
I have told you my secret, it will be my only hold on you
and on the power I crave. If you want my secret, you
will beg me for it.”

Balinsky hesitated. Ilga ran forward suddenly and
threw her arms around him and pressed her lips to his.

“I was merely teasing, Feodor,” she said caressingly.
“Of course I will tell you. I will tell you anything that
you ask.”

“Then speak !” he cried, his voice thick with passion.

“Not here,” she said, drawing back.

“Why not?”

“Even the walls have ears. Here in the palace, unless
report lies, you have a sound-proof room where none
may know what goes on within its walls. There and
there only will I speak.”

“Then come !” he cried.

He led the way to a bookcase and twisted a knob.
A section of the wall swung back and he motioned her
to precede him through the opening. She started to
enter and then drew back as though frightened.

“Go first, Feodor,” she said in a coaxing tone.

He glanced sharply at her, shrugged his shoulders and
stepped through the doorway. Ilga gave a swift glance
around and slowly followed him. The room into which
she stepped was severe in its plainness, the only furni-
ture being a heavy desk in the center of the room on
which showed a communicator button, and two straight
chairs. Ilga passed him swiftly and leaned against the
desk, facing the doorway through which they had en-
tered.

“Are you sure that no one can hear wlmt goes on in
here?” she asked.

“I am positive. Unless the communicator is opened,
a pistol shot in here would not be heard beyond this
room when the door is closed.”

“Close it.” she directed.

“Turn that knob on the desk to the right.”

Ilga did so and the door clanged shut.

“Now speak!” cried Balinsky. “You say that my
life is in danger?”

“It is in grave danger. You can save it only by the
most implicit obedience to my orders.”

“From whom is it in danger?”

“You have not seen Karonoff since his return?”

“No.”

“T^ ARONOFF did not return. He was in New York

iV when the fleet bombed it and he was stricken with
pneumonia. Before he died he became delirious and told
who he was and what was his mission. He was over-
heard by a man who speaks Russian like a native. This
man took his papers and altered the description and
came here, passing himself ofif as Karonoff. It is from
him that your life is in danger.”

Balinsky stared at her.

“Why did you not expose him sooner ?” he demanded.

“Because I wished to save your life. By exact obe-
dience to my orders you can save it.”

Balinsky snarled and started toward her. Iris face
distorted with rage.

“Where is this false Karonoff?” he cried.

“Look behind you !” replied Ilga.

Balinsky whirled as though shot and looked into the
muzzle of a heavy revolver in the hands of Boris
Vestoff. Ilga’s laugh rang out in the stillness.

“Trapped!” she cried. “Feodor Balinsky, master of
the world, arbiter of life and death for millions, trapped
in a sound-proof room and at the mercy of Tiberius !”

Balinsky grew pale as he looked into the threatening
muzzle.

“What do you want?” he demanded in a voice which
quavered slightly, despite his heroic attempt at self-
control.

“Tliat will appear later,” replied Vestoff quietly. “Sit
down in that chair. Tie him, Ilga.”

He tossed her a coil of rope which he held in his left
hand and Ilga bound Balinsky firmly in the chair.

“Shall I gag him, Boris?” she asked.

“No, let the rat squeal. Now, Feodor Balinsky, you
are face to face with your maker. On the promptness
and completeness with which you answer my questions
depends your chance for life. The first question is
this: We know that you have prepared an anti-virus
for pneumonia which will store and which you now have
ready for use. Where is it kept ?”

A stubborn expression came over Balinsky’s face.

“What do you want of it?” he asked.

“Don’t ask questions; answer them.”

“I won’t tell you.”

“I will give you thirty seconds in which to answer
me. If you do not, your blood is on your own head.”

“If you kill me, you will never learn,” exclaimed
Balinsky. “What can I offer you to obtain my release?
Power? You shall be one of the Council of Seven.
Wealth? The world shall pay you tribute. Women?
You shall have as many as you wish with all of the
world from which to choose. Name your price.”

“Ilga,” said Vestoff in a cold voice as he handed her
a knife, “remove his shoes and socks and slit his trous-
ers up to the knees.”

“What are you going to do ?” cried Balinsky, the sweat
standing in beads on his forehead.

“I am a skilled surgeon, Balinsky. As you are a sui^
geon, you will, no doubt, appreciate my motives. I
have always wished to dissect the body of a living man
without anesthesia in order to study the muscular re-
actions. This is my first opportunity. Since your life
has become forfeit, it is well that observations of value
to mankind result from your death. You should watch
me with scientific interest, Balinsky. I am called a
skillful operator.”

Fascinated in spite of himself, Balinsky watched Ves-
toff take from his pocket a small operating kit and spread
the gleaming instruments out on the desk.

“It is no part of my plan that you die of blood loss,”
he remarked as he adjusted a tourniquet to Balinsky’s
leg. “However, since you are to eventually die, I will
not bother overmuch with asepsis. My first operation
will be to remove the skin from your foot and ankle.
I will then amputate your toes, one at a time and finally
remove your foot at the metatarsal joint. Then I will
start on the other foot. Observe the skill of my move-
ments.”

502

AMAZING STORIES

H e took a scalpel and slit the skin on the top of the
foot. Starting at the slit he began to remove the
skin and expose the muscles and nerves. His movements
were skillful and careful, but very slow. Balinsky
writhed futilely at his bonds and his screams of pain
filled the sound-proof room. Vestofi went methodically
along with his work, but Ilga stopped her ears with her
fingers.

“I will now take off the large toe,” announced Vestoff
casually. “I trust that you are enjoying the exhibition.”
“Stop!” screamed Balinsky, “I will tell you.”

Vestoff straightened up.

“Really?” he said with a tone of mild interest. “I
hate to interrupt my experiments. However, I sup-
pose that I must keep my word. Where is it?”

“In the safe in my private laboratory.”

“And the combination of that safe?”

Balinsky maintained a stubborn silence and Vestoff
picked up the scalpel. As it touched his raw flesh,
Balinsky spoke.

“Right to eighty-four, left three times to twenty-six,
right twice to eleven, left to forty-four and right to
open.”

“And which serum is it?”

“The bottle marked ‘3-X’.”

“Very well. Ilga, you will go to the safe and bring
the serum here together with a syringe and a needle.
Balinsky, if you make a sound while that door is open, I
will remove your right eye next.”

Ilga returned in a few minutes with the bottle of
serum and a hypodermic syringe.

“Will this serum immunize as well as cure?” asked
Vestoff.

“Yes. Give three minims as an intravenous injec-
tion.”

“Since I fear that the exposure to which you have been
subjected may cause you to contract pneumonia, I will
first immunize you, Balinsky,” remarked Vestoff as he
filled the syringe.

As he approached the bound man needle in hand,
Balinsky shrank back in horror.

“No, not that,” he moaned.

Vestoff paused.

“Ah,” he exclaimed with a smile, “I expected as
much. I really am not stupid, Balinsky. Which is this,
cancer or leprosy?”

“Bubonic plague,” muttered the prisoner.

“Now perhaps you will tell us which is the anti-
pneumonia serum,” he said.

Balinsky shut his lips stubbornly and shook his head.
“Then I will inoculate you with this Itefore proceed-
ing with my operations,” said Vestoff.

As the needle of death touched him, Balinsky shrank
back as far as he could. Vestoff pressed the needle
slowly forward with a grim smile. Just before his skin
gave, Balinsky cried out.

“I will tell,” he exclaimed.

“Very well,” replied Vestoff withdrawing the needle.
“Which is it?”

Balinsky hesitated and Vestoff touched him again
with the needle.

“It is in the locked compartment of my safe,” moaned
the tortured man. “The keys are in my pocket. It is
in tubes and is the only serum in that compartment.”
“Get it, Ilga,” directed her brother.

When she returned with the serum, Balinsky sub-
mitted to an injection without protest.

“That is satisfactory,” said Vestoff. “However, there
are several things left for you to explain. There are
only about three hundred tubes of serum here. Either
you have a larger supply some place or there is some
method of rapidly reproducing it. Which is it?”

“I won’t tell. You have enough for yourself. Do
with it as you please. I will say no more.”

“I am glad that you are stubborn, Balinsky, remarked
Vestoff as he picked up the scalpel. “You force me to
remove one of your eyes and that is an operation that
I have often wished to perform.”

He seized the upper lid of Balinsky’s right eye with a
pair of forceps and with his scalpel started to remove it.

“I will tell !” screamed Balinsky.

Vestoff dropped the scalpel with an exclamation of
annoyance.

“Really, Balinsky,” he said, “you force me to forego
all pleasure. Speak.”

“Inject the contents of each of those tubes into the
shoulder of a horse. In six hours you may draw his
blood, coagulate it and wash the serum with a saturated
solution of dimethyloxamide in ether and it is ready for
use. The dose for a person is two minims for immun-
ization and five for cure. The dose for a horse is sixty
minims.”

“Can the serum thus prepared be used on another
horse to increase the amount?”

“Yes, but each time that it is used, you must double
the time of waiting or double the dose, as it progres-
sively weakens.”

“Balinsky, I am really sorry that you would not let
me pursue my experiments on unanesthetized operations.
However, the world is waiting anxiously for this prepa-
ration, so we must leave you. One more question be-
fore we go; wbat is the secret of your new airfleet?”

“I don’t know,” said Balinsky earnestly. “Each of
the Council of Seven has his specialty and does not pry
into the work of the others. Nashky can tell you, but
I cannot.”

Vestoff picked up the scalpel again with a smile.

“No, before God, I do not know. You may inoculate
me with buljonic plague, but I cannot tell you.”

The scalpel cut the eyelid slightly.

“I cannot tell; I do not know. For the love of the
Virgin, have mercy!”

“I think that he speaks the truth, Boris,” said Ilga.

Vestoff laid down the scalpel.

“So do I,” he said. “There is only one thing left. I
will move you to the desk and there you will write out
a pass that will allow us to leave Russia unhindered in
our own machine.”

“You will not leave me here bound to starve?” cried
the prisoner.

“No, I will not. Wlien we leave, we will partially cut
your bonds so that you can free yourself in an hour or
two of liard effort. If it takes you longer, you may lose
your right foot from gangrene, due to the tourniquet,
but I believe that you will be able to free yourself. If
you do not, I will send a call to Zaneff from New York
and tell him your position, so your eventual release will
be assured.”

With the pass securely buttoned in his tunic, Vestoff
spoke again.

“Use your communicator,” he said, “and order my
Spadile to be brought to the palace roof fully charged
and ready for flight. Try no tricks when your key is
open, for I can both inoculate you with plague and

THE RED PERIL

503

blind you before assistance could reach you. Order my
ship equipped with a right-of-way light and an ultra-
violet searchlight.”

An hour later, the button of Balinsky’s communicator
began to glow and the Spadile was announced as being
in readiness. Vestoflf cut partially through the ropes
that bound the prisoner and, followed by Ilga, left the
.sound-proof room with the precious bundle of serum
under his arm.

Ilga maintained her composure while the pass was be-
ing examined and until the Spadile had reached the fifty
thousand foot level. As Vestoff pushed the indicator
of his propeller to maximum speed forward, she
screamed once and then burst into hysterical laughter.
Vestoff switched on his right-of-way light, locked his
rudder and turned to her.

‘‘Buck up, Ilga!” he cried as he grasped her firmly
and pressed firmly and steadily on the nerve centers be-
hind her ears. ‘‘You have done splendidly so far but
we aren’t out of the woods yet.”

‘‘I can’t help it, Boris,” she gasped between shrieks
of wild laughter, ‘‘His screams ”

‘‘Isn’t that a ship after us?” cried Vestoff sharply.

The thought of danger drove Ilga’s hysterics momen-
tarily from her mind and she seized the earphones of the
sound locator and pressed them to her ears.

‘‘I don’t hear anything,” she said.

‘‘I thought that I did,” replied Vestoff with a silent
smile. ‘‘Listen carefully while I press her to the limit.”

F or an hour the tiny Spadile tore on through the
night. Once clear of Iceland, Vestoff turned his
craft southwest and headed on a compass bearing for
New York City. Hardly had he set his course than Ilga
spoke.

“I hear motors behind us,” she said.

‘‘What type and how many?”

‘‘Heavy concentrators. About four. I can hear no
elevating fans, but propellers are turning at high speed
and there is some sound that I don’t know. Unless I
am mistaken, it is the Russian fleet that did the bomb-
ing.”

“No doubt. They would trust no ordinary craft out-
side their boundaries,” said Vestoff as he crowded his
indicator forward, striving to coax a little more speed
out of the Spadile. Louder and louder came the hum
of the motors of the pursuing craft.

“There is no question as to what ships they are,” he
said grimly. “I must have cut too nearly through Balin-
sky’s bonds. I had better call for help.”

He left his ship to take care of itself and pressed his
communicator key.

“This is Doctor Vestoff of New York,” he said. “I
have just escaped from Russia with serums that will
cure every ca.se of pneumonia in the infected areas. I
am hotly pursued by the Russian fleet. Put me through
to the President of the United States.”

“The President cannot be disturbed,” came the answer
in a few minutes.

“Damn you and your officiousness !” raged Vestoff.
“This is a vital matter. Give me anyone in authority.”
In a few moments a sleepy voice spoke.

“This is General Diesen,” it said.

Hurriedly Vestoff told his story.

“Have three hundred horses and as many surgeons
ready against my arrival,” he finished, “and ask Field
Marshal Van Hornung to send every available craft

aloft. They can’t harm these monsters, but they may
delay them and confuse them enough to let me land.”

“Everything shall be done, doctor,” said General Die-
sen, the sleep gone from his voice. “What is your course
and location?”

“Drop on a long slant to twenty thousand,” he said
when Vestoff had given him the information, “the Al-
lied fleets will meet you and pass over you at about
forty thousand as soon as they can get under way. As
soon as the fleets have passed, drop again to five thous-
and. I think we’ll stop them all right I”

Vestoff dropped on a long slant toward New York,
his ultrasearchlight blazing beside his right-of-way light.
The hum of the Russian motors came clearer and louder
and his instruments began to glow faintly.

“Where are the Allied ships?” he fumed.

“There they come 1” cried Ilga.

Far above them ship after ship flashed by, visible for
an instant in his upturned searchlight. The Spadile
was traveling faster than sound, but from far behind
them, Vestoff and Ilga could see the flash of radite
shells as the Allied fleet met the Russians and poured
a rain of fire into them. Two hundred miles ahead the
ultra-violet aircraft beacons of New York blinked a wel-
come and Vestoff reduced his speed and slanted down
toward them.

Far behind him. Field Marshal Van Hornung looked
through his fluoroscope detector and watched the battle
in the air. The criss-cross gleams of the ultra-search-
lights lighted up the sky, and the four Soviet craft could
be seen forging relentlessly ahead, unheeding the rain of
shells that were poured on them,

“Where is that ship of Hamilton’s?” he asked anx-
iously.

“It’s coming. Marshal,” replied the Communications
Officer. “With the weight it is carrying, it is slower
than the main fleet. Here it comes.”

I NTO the beam of the flagship’s searchlight sailed a
huge transport aerostat. In place of the usual cabin,
it carried on its upper deck two huge generators and
pointing ominously forward was a long tube at the rear
end of which the Marshal knew was a parabolic reflector
and a wave projector. Forward the transport moved
until it was almost under the first of the Russian craft.
The tube swung upward and the roar of generators
could be heard. The tone of the generators changed and
ran up and down the scale as Hamilton changed the
frequency of the wave motion he was generating. The
Marshal focused his sound locator on the Russian ship
and listened in an agony of doubt. Suddenly the Rus-
sian motors missed a beat, and as they did so the ship
dropped like a plummet. It recovered almost instantly
and resumed its even hum, but the Marshal’s face lighted
up with exultation.

“He’s done it!” he cried. “What’s he up to now?”
The transport aerostat drew out of the fight for a
moment and started to climb. Once above the Russian
ship, the long tube swung downward. Almost at once
the hum of the Russian’s generators ceased and like a
lump of lead the ship plunged toward the ocean. Down
and down it went. Van Hornung grasped the trans-
mitter of his communicator from the hands of the officer
who held it.

“Fire on that failing ship!” he shouted.

Heavy radite shells were on their way before his
voice ceased. They crashed (Continued on page 521)

\buNG Old M

By Earl L. Bell

Author of "The Moon of Doom"

ffOiat science did for a young man in a moment of sad desire

W HEN we examine the amount of scientific progress that
was made in the medieval ages, it is astonishing how
little was accomplished. It is plausible to consider, as a
very important reason, the rampant superstitions of those
days and the readiness with which people who dared utter
a word that was not generally accepted as gospel truth, were
burned at the stake or otherwise executed as witches or aides
of the devil.

It might prove of inestimable value if we could transcribe
the hieroglyphics that compose the Roger Bacon Formulas
which were lately supposed to have been discovered, for
Bacon, the writer and Franciscan Monk, was also a scientist
of no mean ability.

Mr. Bell, who is known to our readers as the author of
*‘The Moon of Doom,'' has easily exceeded himself in this
story on this theme of age<old interest and continued
newness.

met the Young Old Man — Glenn Fleming
nd I — during our first camp-out in the
eart of the Ozarks.

A cloudburst that sent the rain through
le roof of our shack had ruined our cache
of rations, and we decided to replenish at the nearest set-
tlement, some ten miles distant, rather than cut short our
vacation.

Our rackety car managed to carry us safely over the
makeshift mountain roads, and we found that the settle-
ment comprised only five or six scattered houses and one
store, a typical cross-roads affair, whose front bore
numerous patent medicine and cut-plug advertisements
amid which could be discerned the lettering: Clinton
Fancher — General Merchandise.

Quite traditionally, the proprietor was sitting on a
soap box inside the store engaged in the ancient art of
whittling when we entered. There was something about
him that focused our attention immediately he rose to
greet us ; and when he spoke, we knew he was no ordinary
hillman.

“A particularly fine day after yesterday’s deluge, my
lads. One of the heaviest rains these old hills have had in
more than a decade. What can I do for you ?”

In .spite of his inordinate quid of tobacco, his articu-
lation was perfect, but there was an alien quality in his
voice that was baffling — a slight but peculiar accent that
defied definition. His English was good, but it hinted
of other tongues, a combination of them, in a most cos-
mopolitan sort of way.

Queer, that voice of his, but his appearance was even
more bizarre. I remarked him closely as he was filling
our order and noted that Glenn, who had strolled over to
the counter and picked up a book that lay by the cheese
box, also was studying him.

Tliere are men who are old for their years, and men
young for their years, but there is always some clue —
the eyes, as a rule — that enables one to come within
ten years of their correct age, at the outside. But not
so with the man before us. I first thought he was no
more than forty. Then, noticing his graying hair and
slight flabbiness of muscle, I guessed he was about fifty.
But when I found opportunity to look closely into his
eyes, I received such a shock that I wanted to shudder.

Set in a face almost youthful, they were ancient be-
yond reckoning, as are the Ozark hills.

Dewlapped, timeworn and sunken. ... Yet they were
not the lack-lustre eyes of senility. There were life and
light in them, but of a kind I did not know. Weariness
— infinite weariness — was there, and a sorrowful sort of
wisdom, as if they had gazed too long upon the Valley
of Baca. Still, I repeat, they were not the watery eyes
of age. Rather, I fancied, they were orbs such as the
Sphinx might have, should she rise suddenly to vigorous
life, under doom to remember all. Yes, that was it — ^the
storekeeper’s eyes had seen too much, and were unable
to forget.

I thought I had managed somehow to conceal my
amazement, and was quite certain he had betrayed no
embarrassment ; but a moment later, none the less, he
produced from his pocket a pair of dark glasses and
put them on.

Glenn, registering puzzlement, was still thumbing the
book when the grocer finished with our order, and when
he laid the volume down, I noticed for the first time
that it had no cover.

“Well, boys, I presume you are strangers in these
parts,’’ the merchant’s enigmatic voice put in, as we paid
him and made ready to depart. “And camping out, I
deduce.”

We introduced ourselves and informed him briefly that
we were down from St. Louis for our first stay in the
Ozarks, and were “roughing it” at Robin Creek, where
the fishing had been very good until the recent rain.

“The water will be too muddy for any catch except
catfish until to-morrow, I should say,” he commented.
“Come to see me again before you leave, lads. I
seldom see anyone from the outside. I have been living
here twenty years and haven’t been ten miles from the
hamlet in that time. I guess I’m getting lonesome — and
loquacious. Sometimes I find myself looking out upon
the hills and talking to them. I’ve seen nearly all the
mountains in the world, boys, and I love the Ozarks best
of all. They are so old they seem to be en rapport with
one who has come to realize the futility of it all. They

504

Illustration by Briggs

/ jerked spasmodically, I tried to free myself, but the devils in the wires were too cunning.

SOS

AMAZING STORIES

50fe

were once quite haughty hills, you know, but the eons
have worn them down. The day will come when they
shall be no more. Sic transit gloria mundi.” (Thus the
world’s glory passes.)

' “Then I take it you are not a native of this section, and
must have traveled quite a bit,” I said, hiding my aston-
ishment at his linguistic display.

“You’re right, my friend. My natal cry was uttered
far from these hills, and I’ve outdone the Wandering
Jew himself in my day. Come over some time and let me
bore you with some of my experiences.”

And then, to Glenn as we were starting the car ; “You
must come too, my lad, and I’ll tell you about that book,
if you’ll promise to believe me.”

“tMAGINE a country storekeeper in this neck of the

X woods using Latin and reading dog Latin. It’s un-
canny!” Glenn’s voice rose above the rattle of the
flivver.

“But not as uncanny as his eyes,” I responded. “Did
you see them?”

“No, I was too interested in the book. So that’s why
he put on his glasses ?”

“I guess so, and I’m glad he did. His eyes really gave
me the creeps. They’re incongruous. At once young
and old, and there’s something odious about them — no,
not that, but sadness and weariness so great as to make
them repellent. I once read a gruesome tale about the
dead-alive, a group of people for whose souls life and
death fought to a stalemate and finally arrived at a
ghastly compromise whereby their victims must live for-
ever in a plight that called for death. Well, I imagine
those people must have had eyes like those of our friend
back there.”

“Oh, wake up. Bill, you talk as though you had seen
i ghost or a vampire,” my companion chided. “The fel-
low has some peculiar optical ailment, that’s all. But
I’d like for you to tell me what he is doing with that
book. It’s a medieval philosophical work and is written
in a monkish sort of Latin that puzzles me. There was
no way to tell who wrote it, nor when it was published.
The binding and the title page were gone, and the name
doesn’t appear at the top of the pages as in modern
books. It must be hundreds of years old, and is worth
a fortune, sure as your name is Bill Semms.”

Glenn was a hopeless bibliophile, and I knew he would
not rest until he had learned the history of the volume.
Therefore I expected him to propose that we pay the
storeman another visit, and he did so, before we reached
camp. I prevailed upon him, however, to wait until we
broke camp and stop by the store on our way out of the
mountains.

A VISITOR came to our shack that night, an old
mountaineer named Harkins who lived about a mile
up the creek, and who had paid us a previous call. Long,
lean, bearded and rugged, he was a typical back-hillman
in all save one respect: he was garrulous — to a fault.

“Come down this way this mo’nin’ bout noon to see
ef the cloudburst had washed you all away,” he said
by way of greeting, “and found you-all gone. Reck-
oned you-all had packed up and hit fer home, but
heard your car a-ratt!in’ over the hills while I was
a-crossin’ the creek this evenin’ (afternoon), so I jest
drapped in to tell you-all that the fishin’ will be all
right again in a day or tew.”

“The rain was too much for our roof and ruined
the groceries we had in the corner over there,” I ex-
plained, “so we had to run up to the settlement and buy
more.”

“Which settlement?”

“I don’t know its name. It’s about ten miles west of
here.”

“That’s Rossville. So you bought ’em from that Ran-
cher fellow, hey? Pecooliar old chap, ain’t he? They
call him the ‘Young Old Man.’ ”

Glenn moved closer and handed our guest a cigar.

“We didn’t pay much attention to him,” I lied, try-
ing to veil my curiosity. “Why do you call him peculiar?”

“Ef you had saw his eyes, you’d a-called him wuss
than pecooliar. Guess he had ’em covered up, though.
Most gen’ly does, now.”

“He did strike us as somewhat unusual,” I admitted.
“Tell us something about him.”

“Well,” he began, lighting his cigar, “Fancher ain’t
a bad sort o’ feller — ’ceptin’ his eyes. Nobody ’round
here don’t know much ’bout him. He’s a mystery. Come
to Rossville ’bout twenty year ago and bought out a
sto’. He’s a furriner, all right, but nobody don’t know
jest where he come from. Friendly enough, but never
would say much ’bout hisself, or .’bout anything else,
for that matter. They do say, though, that he’s kind o’
loosened up here o’ late. I ain’t saw him in nearly two
year.”

He paused and stroked his beard.

“But his eyes — what’s the matter with them?” I
prompted.

“Nobody don’t know what in tarnation’s the matter
with ’em. They was kind o’ pecooliar when he fust
come here, and they been gettin’ wusser and wusser ever
since. Got so bad ’bout five year ago that the young
uns at Ross.ville thought he was the bogey-man and were
scairt to go to his sto’, even for the scraps o’ candy he’d
give ’em now and then. He started to wearin’ a pair o’
big black glasses ’bout that time, and I hyears he’s
sca-cely ever seen without ’em, now. He can see out
o’ them eyes o’ his’n good as anytody, though.”

“Why do they call him the ‘Young Old Man’?” Glenn
put in.

“I was a-comin’ to that. It’s mostly ’cause o’ his eyes.
Ef you had saw ’em, you’d understand. Bet old
Methuselah hisself didn’t have a set o’ eyes any older
lookin’ than Fancher’s. They look like they had saw the
flood, the locusts and all them other plagues the Bible
tells ’bout. Ef it warn’t for that, he could pass for a
man o’ forty-five, easy. And that’s the funny part o’ it
— ’ceptin’ his eyes, he don’t look a year older than when
he fust come here. Yes, sir, there’s somethin’ mighty
pecooliar ’bout Fancher. But he’s a pretty good sort,
jest the same, and will do anybody a favor ef he can.
The smallpox broke out in these parts ’bout ten year ago,
and Fancher closed his sto’ and missed at least a dozen
families. Didn’t seem scairt at all.”

T hree days later we heard the Young Old Man
was dead.

Found lifeless in his bed in the room back of his store,
according to old Harkins, who brought the news to us.

But the excited Harkins had no particulars. In fact,
he wasn’t certain the report was true. He had “hyeared”
it, he said, and was preparing to go to Rossville to in-
vestigate. “Mought be a murder,” he added, morbidly.

THE YOUiNG OLD MAN

507

if not hopefully. “We ain’t had no excitement in these
hills in three year.”

Glenn proposed that we ride over and see for our-
selves. I surmised he was anxious about the fate of that
book, but what he meant to do about it, if the owner was
really dead, was more than I could fathom.

We invited Harkins to accompany us.

The coroner had claimed the body when we arrived,
and there was to be an inquest shortly, the agitated vil-
lagers informed us.

A few minutes later, after Harkins had lost himself
in the crowd, Glenn and I, accompanied by the coroner,
viewed the Young Old Man’s remains.

It was evident that he had died without a struggle. The
body, fully clothed and face up, lay across the bed. His
weird eyes were forever closed, yet there was something
unearthly about his features — an expression of tran-
scendent joy that centered in the strangest smile I have
ever seen on the face of the dead. Not inscrutable,
that smile. It told of long-sought surcease of flagel-
lating weariness; of infinite gladness at having laid the
burden down.

“I can’t understand it,” the coroner’s voice inter-
rupted my thoughts. “He looks like he is glad he’s dead.
A plain case of heart failure, I guess, but I must go
through with the inquest soon as the doctor arrives.”

The room of death was small and sparsely furnished.
The bed, two chairs, a trunk, a table and a small oil
stove were about all it contained. An oil lamp stood
on the table, and beside it lay a coverless book and the
Young Old Man’s dark glasses. The walls were bare
save for a cracked mirror on one side of the fireplace,
and what appeared to be a framed motto on the other.

Glenn moved over and picked up the book soon as it
caught his eyes.

“This is a valuable volume,” he said to the coroner. “I
would have given him a hundred dollars for it.”

“Well, you may be able to buy it from Preacher Fel-
lows,” the official drawled. “I understand Fancher made
some sort of a will a few months ago and left the pastor
everything he had.”

“Where does the minister live?” Glenn asked, eagerly.

“In that little white house over yonder,” pointing out
of the window to a cottage about two hundred yards
away. “Preacher Fellows is a superannuated circuit
rider, and is going blind. He was Fancher’s closest
friend.”

Glenn laid the book down reluctantly and walked over
to the motto on the wall.

“Come here. Bill, you and the coroner,” he beckoned
a moment later. “This is interesting.”

It was not a motto. It was part of Walt Whitman’s
chant to death:

“Come lovely and soothing Death,

Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving.
In the day, in the night, to all, to each.

Sooner or later, delicate Death,

Dark Mother, always gliding near on soft feet.

Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome?
Then I chant for thee, I glorify thee above all.
Approach, strong deliveress.”

S O you want to buy the book ? I don’t know its value,
but I think the hundred dollars you offer is too
much, my son. I’ll take it, though, for God knows I’ll

need it before long. It’s a strange volume, isn’t it ? Fan-
cher used to pore over it all the time, but he’d never tell
me what was in it.”

We were sitting in the old circuit rider’s humble par-
lor. It was night. The Fancher inquest had been late
in starting and had lasted until nearly sunset. The ver-
dict was death from natural causes.

Glenn gave the minister the money and we prepared
to depart, but he entreated us to stay a little longer. It
seemed that something was troubling him.

“I’m worried, my young friends,” be admitted after
a while. “There’s something I want to show you. You
say you are college men, and maybe you’ll be able to
help me.”

He reached into a drawer of the small table around
which we were sitting and produced a large envelope.

“I supixtse I should have opened this before the in-
quest was held,” he said, “but was so shaken over my
friend’s death that I forgot it.

“Fancher made a will shortly before he died, and his
wish was that I sell his store and keep the money
against the day when these cataracts have finished blind-
ing me. The same day he drew up the will, he gave me
this letter. I was to open it on the day he died. I had
just finished trying to read it when you knocked at the
door. My eyes are so bad I couldn’t study it closely,
but I read enough to make my reason totter. God knows
I believe Fancher was' insane when he wrote it — insane
all the time — ^and we didn’t know it.

“Here, my son,” handing me the letter, “read it aloud.
I want to know just what it means before I show it to
the coroner. I’m just a plain old country preacher and
know almost nothing about the things he mentions. But
I pray that Fancher’s story isn’t true. A suicide’s soul
— no, I won’t say that. Go ahead with the reading, son.”

He turned the flickering flame of the kerosene lamp
a bit higher, and this is what I read :

The True Story of the Life of
Clinton Fancher, 1269-1926

I, Clinton Fancher, alias numerous other names, be-

508

AMAZING STORIES

ing in full possession of all my faculties and having
determined to die, write this, my life story, on the day
that marks the 657th anniversary of my birth.

Knowing that none will believe, I will be brief. And
knowing that the English used by the old friar and my-
self is scarcely intelligible now, I will be modern.

I was born in the year 1269, in the ancient town of
Basingstoke, which is in Hampshire, England.

It was in my twenty-fifth year that I met the thaum-
aturgist and traded life for life.

He was know'ii as the Sorcerer, and I met him near
llchester, in Somerset, in 1293, the year before he died.

He was an old man of nearly 80 then, and had returned
to Somerset, the jilacc of his birth, to spend his last
d.ays after a long imprisonment.

The sorcerer was a Franciscan of O.xford, and one
of the most famous men of his day. A devotee of
knowledge and a man of science, his renown had spread
over most of Europe. He probably did more than any
other man toward ushering in the Renaissance. He
prophesied the airplane, motor vehicle, steamship, sub-
marine and many other inventions which I have lived
to see perfected. His scientific discoveries were among the
first ever made by an Englishman. His writings marked
him as probably the greatest philosopher since the
Greeks.

So great were his accomplishments, that they proved
his undoing and made of his life an intellectual tragedy.
He had always been considered a rebellious member of
the Franciscan order and was distrusted by his fellow
friars. At length he was accused of dealing in black art,
and finally, when the church condemned his books, was
thrown into prison for fourteen years.

He had pursued his writings and investigations while
in prison, and it was rumored he had emerged with the
formula of an elixir that would enable one to live for-
ever.

I had been ill three years with a disease which was
later to become known as tuberculosis. I felt I couldn’t
live much longer. And I was in love. She was a bonny
Hampshire lass with eyes like lapis lazuli.

And that is why I left Basingstoke and made my way
to the house of the sorcerer.

He received me kindly, did this old friar of the broad
brow and piercing eyes, whom prison suffering had
wasted to a shadow.

“So you would like to live forever, my lad ?’’ he asked
after hearing my story. “I wouldn’t advise it, even if
it were possible. The man who discovers an elixir such
as you mention would be the greatest malefactor the
world has known. No, I have no such formula. Don’t
you see, I’d be burned at the stake for witchcraft if
what you have heard were true?”

But I pleaded with him to try at least to heal me. I
told him of the lass back in Hampshire. At length he
promised to dose me.

“Come back to-night, my son, and I’ll see what I can
do,” he said, a strange light coming into his eyes.

T hat light was burning fiercer when I returned. I
was almost afraid of him. But he took me by the
hand reassuringly and led me into his study.

"There is no drug that will heal you,” he said. “You

must waste away and die unless ”

“Unless what?” I cried.

“Would you really like to live indefinitely, my son?”

“Yes, forever — forever and a day.”

“Yours is the voice of youth,” he meditated. “You do
not know what you say. I do not want the stain of a
suicide’s blood on my soul. The very knowledge that
one had interminable life would lead to self-destruction.
No, lad, life is u.sually too long as it is.”

“But not for me,” I protested. "I am only twenty-
four, and must die — die without having lived.”

“It is so,” he agreed. The strange light in his eyes
flared up again, brighter than the ray of the candle on
the table between us. “Come with me.”

He was trembling so violently he could hardly pick
up the candle. “Come with me.”

He led me into another room and pointed to a silver
crucifix on the wall.

"You are of the faith?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Then kneel before the crucifix and swear by all the
saints that you will never reveal, while I am living, what
I am about to do.”

I swore.

AVhen I rose he had opened a cleverly concealed trap-
door in the floor behind me. There was a ladder leading
to the basement. I followed him down.

The cellar was not more than ten feet square: A
table stood in one corner. On it was a sizable black box
with wires running from it.

The old friar set the candle on the table and placed
a hand on the box.

"I’m not certain it will grant you immortality,” he
said. “If I were, I would not have brought you here.
But it may heal you, at least. And if it does more than
that, may God forgive me.”

“What is in it?” I -gasped. Had Lucifer and all the
hosts of Hell sprung from the box 1 would not have
been surprised. You must remember that it was still
the Dark Ages.

“Ah, that I knew what it contains,” the old man replied.
“But it has no life, as we understand the term. And it
cannot harm you, though it may cause you to fall asleep
for a while. Are you ready, my son? If so, bare your
wrists and ankles.”

The seeming necromancy of the proceedings almost
paralyzed my medieval mind. Grim fear gripped me and
for a moment I wanted to cry out and flee the house.
Would to God I hadl

That the sorcerer was in league with Satan I had no
doubt. And probably he was trying to betray me into
selling my soul. No, I told myself, I would have none
of it. But at that instant the old man’s eyes gleamed
once more with that unholy light — hypnotic, I suppose —
and my fear subsided.

Stupefied, I began rolling up my sleeves, and when the
candlelight accentuated the emaciation of my arms, I no
longer hesitated.

The sorcerer must have sensed my decision. He be-
gan fumbling with the w-ires that ran from the box, and
I noticed there was a metal clasp at the end of each of
them.

At his gesture I moved nearer the table and he fastened
the clasps about my limbs. I fancied his lips were moving
in prayer.

“Ready, my son?”

“Ready, Father, and God help me!”

There was a sort of key in one side of the box. The
SQicerer gave it a turn.

THE YOUNG OLD MAN

509

A thousand fires began racing through niy veins. I
jerked spasmodically. I tried to free myself of the
clasps, but the devils in the wires were too eunning. A
sputtering sound was coming from the box, and my
horror-dilated eyes beheld small streams of purple sparks
issuing from the holes where the wires emerged.
In spite of my pain, I was fascinated. I had never
seen fire so beautiful, I thought, and thinking, lost
consciousness.

I WAS stretched on the cellar’s earthen floor when I
revived. The sorcerer was bending over me solic-
itously.

“You are all right now,” he said. “I’m sorry it hurt
you. I did not know.”

“How long was I dead?” I asked, rising and finding
that the cla.sps had been removed.

“You slept only a few minutes. It was a slumber I
don’t understand.”

I glanced at the box. It had ceased its sputtering.
“The devils in the box — where are they?” I inquired.
“There were no devils, my son. It was a natural
force. Let’s return upstairs — it’s too damp down here
— and I will try to explain.”

“Yes, it was a natural force, my lad,” when we were
back in his study and I had sipped a glass of his wine.
“The ancient Greeks called it clcktron. Thales of Miletus
experimented with it 600 years before Christ lived.

I think it’s the same phenomenon that causes light-
ning.

“I have gone much deeper into the mystery than did
Thales — too deep, perhaps. I have learned how to pro-
duce it and partially control it. I have also discovered
that it can kill, as does the lightning, and that, while it
cannot produce life, it can prolong it ad infinitum.

“And since I have been out of prison I have made a
prodigious step. I have isolated its life cletnent. •
"The fire you saw coming from the box, my lad, was
literally the spark of life.

“I first applied the life element to species of the
Ephemerida, insects that live only a few hours, and the
result was that they lived for weeks. I next tried it on
small animals, mostly mice, but it is too early to remark
its effects on them. I noticed, however, that diseased
rodents were immediately restored to health and that the
same was true in the case of a dog that was nearly dead
when it came into my hands.

“Therefore, my young friend from Basingstoke, I be-
lieve you need have no further fear of the disease that
has been consuming you. And if the life spark has
given you physical immortality, forgive me, my son,
and curse me not in the dreary days to come.

“Go you back and wed the maiden, and my blessing
be upon you and yours forever.”

AND back to Basingstoke I hurried, leaving the house
l \ of the sorcerer the next morning and carrying
with me one of his books which he had given me as a
remembrance.

As I trekked my way homeward I knew I had been

healed. I could feel life — new life — surging through me,
bringing vigor I had never known, and ere I reached
Basingstoke, firm flesh had filled out my frame.

But I was never to wed the lass with eyes like lapis
lazuli ; nor, through the more than six centuries that have
followed, any other. . . . The spark of life, in giving
life, had killed the life within me.

I remained in Basingstoke twenty years without aging
a day in appearance. Then the townsfolk began to ac-
cuse me of having bartered my soul to Satan for eternal
youth. I tried to explain. They laughed.

And then I began my wanderings, the loneliest, mo.st
accursed of mortals, an objeci of curiosity or suspicion
wherever I tarried long; driven from clime to clime by
fear and sensitiveness ; an anachronism spurred ever on-
ward by a life that prayed for death.

I was in Germany when the Black Death swept
Europe ; in France, that day in May when Joan of Arc
was burned in the streets of Rouen. The Maid was a
pathetic figure, weeping as she walked to the stake. And,
seeking death in battle, I fought under many flags. I
was with the German troops when they pillaged Rome;
with Blake when he destroyed the Spanish fleet at Ten-
eriffe; with the Royalists against Cromwell, fought
against my native land when the American Colonies
struggled for freedom ; with it again in its wars against
Napoleon. Wounded only once.

But I said I would be brief.

I have been in America now since 1880. Twenty
years ago I came to the Ozarks, seeking sanctuary in
their loneliness. My respite is ending. The friendly hill
people have begun to wonder. They are calling me the
Young Old Man — a name I have had in many lands.
Even the children sense my anomalousness. They are
afraid of my eyes.

It has been said in truth that the eyes are the windows
of the soul. Mine reflect my weariness, if not my age.
But it is only in the last few years that their incongruity
has grown into gargoyle hideousness. The soul is burst-
ing through the windows at last.

I am weary for oblivion. For five hundred years I
have sighed for the waters of Lethe. But I have been
a craven coward, afraid, because of the medieval super-
stition that still lies coiled in my soul, to summon death.
An eternity of monotony behind me; centuries of mem-
ories that will not fade. An eternity of loathsome life
before me. A thousand years of it, perhaps. A thous-
and years! It shall not be. I will not go on. If it is
true that God has existed from eternity, I am sure He
will understand.

I have the formula of a potent but kindly poison I
have remembered from the Dark Ages. I will brew it
soon and drink it, and drinking, sing out with the poet,
“Approach, strong deliveress!”

The sorcerer, in the book he gave me, cried out against
the futility of life. The name of the volume is Opus
Tertium. I still have it, though I destroyed its binding
and title page centuries ago when priestly prejudice
still execrated the memory of its author, whose name
was Roger Bacon.

The End

Gold Dust and

510

Gold Dust and

Star Dust

Illustrated

HYND

H ere is another story about a robbery perpetrated
by means of the Fourth Dimension. But this time
there are no forceps. Our wefl-known author
can be depended upon to use an entirely
new method, ingeniously devised. Only
a detective well versed in the sub-
ject of the Fourth Dimension
could possibly have solved
the mystery — yet it all
seems very simple
after he ex-
plains it.

A hundred massive oak cases were
hanging in the air and occupying a space
not larger than an orange! It was like
looking at them through the wrong end.
of a telescope.

HEN the telephone rang and I found Hilary
Corwin waiting to speak to me, I knew at
once that something quite out of the ordinary
had occurred. His voice, usually firm and
slightly emphatic, as of one who is in the
habit of imposing his views upon others, now trembled
with excitement. His eyes snapped and sparkled and
there was a hectic spot of crimson on each high
cheekbone.

“Can you come up to the lab immediately, Frank?”
he said, after the usual greetings.

“I guess I can, if it’s important, Hil,” I replied. “I
was planning to stay at home and watch the game between
the Yanks and the Giants, but that doesn’t matter.”

“Never mind about the game, Frank. Set your re-
corder and you can watch it after you get back. I have
a most curious problem to solve and I want your help.”

“You mean that you want my company,” I laughed.
“You know darned well that it’s little help you ever
get from me.”

Hilary’s eyes wrinkled into a smile and he rubbed the
tip of his hawk nose with the forefinger of his right
hand; a little habit he had when he was in any way
embarrassed.

“You help me more than
you realize, Frank,” he said,
shaking his head. “I can
never think to the best ad-
vantage without someone
with whom to discuss my
thoughts, any more than a
pen can write without paper.
Will you come?”

“Thanks for the compli-
ment?” I exclaimed, laugh-
ing again, “but I should like
to remind you that a pen
will write very well on a
block of wood 1 Yes, surely
I’ll come. Be there in fif-
teen minutes.”

He hung up the receiver
and his face vanished. I
picked up my tunic from the
chair where I had thrown it
and went upstairs to the
hangar in the attic, where I
keep my little two-seater.
After making sure that I had enough Vrilol for the trip,
I opened the roof-panels, stepped on the starter and
threw the lifting helices into high.

A few seconds later I was at the commuting level and
set my course to the east at a comfortable four hundred
miles an hour. Corwin’s place was about eighty miles
from my bachelor diggings, so I could be there well
within the time I had stated. I lit a cigarette and turned
my thoughts to the probable object of my trip.

Hilary Corwin was somewhat of a mystery. I had

510

Star Dust

Illustrated

HYND

H erb is another story about a robbery perpetrated
by means of the Fourth Dimension. But this time
there are no forceps. Our well-known author
can be depended upon to use an entirely
new method, ingeniously devised. Only
a detective well versed in the sub-
ject of the Fourth Dimension
could possibly have solved
the mystery — yet it all
seems very simple
after he ex-
plains it.

A hundred massive oak cases were
hanging in the air and occupying a space
not larger than an orange! It was like
looking at them through the wrong end.
of a telescope.

“Can you come up to the lab immediately, Frank?”
he said, after the usual greetings.

“I guess I can, if it’s important, Hil,” I replied. “I
was planning to stay at home and watch the game between
the Yanks and the Giants, but that doesn’t matter.”

“Never mind about tbe game, Frank. Set your re-
corder and you can watch it after you get back. I have
a most curious problem to solve and I want your help.”

“You mean that you want my company,” I laughed.
“You know darned well that it’s little help you ever
get from me.”

Hilary’s eyes wrinkled into a smile and he rubbed the
tip of his hawk nose with the forefinger of his right
hand ; a little habit he had when he was in any way
embarrassed.

“Thanks for the compli-
ment?” I exclaimed, laugh-
ing again, “but I should like
to remind you that a pen
will write very well on a
block of wood ! Yes, surely
I’ll come. Be there in fif-
teen minutes.”

Hilary Corwin was somewhat of a mystery. I had

512

AMAZING STORIES

known him for a long time. In fact, I think I may
say tliat I was his only intimate friend, if indeed our
relationship could be dignified by the name of intimacy.
He seemed to regard me somewhat as Sherlock Holmes
regarded the redoubtable Dr. Watson, in the light of a
mental punching bag or chopping block.

Not that Corwin was a detective. The fact is that
in spite of our long acquaintance and alleged intimacy
I had no definite knowledge of what he did for a living.
That he made a living, and a very good living, too, was
obvious, but although he continually enlisted my help
in various enterprises for which he received large fees,
it would be impossible to assign his work to any par-
ticular profession, because no two of his “jobs,” as he
called them, bore the slightest resemblance to each other.

AS nearly as I can describe it, he had the type of
knowledge which begins where that of other men
leaves off. It was the breadth and catholicity of his
learning which rendered his services so valuable. Had
some great engineering contractor encountered a prob-
lem which his own experts were unable to solve? Send
for Corwin 1 Was the Attorney General of some Euro-
pean Republic in difficulties over a point of law ? Send
for M. Hilary Corwin! Did one of the shipping com-
panies want to remodel their aerial transportation lines ?
By all means send for Dr. Corwin. I have even known
the management of a great New York restaurant send
for my friend to teach the French chef the correct way
to make a savory dish, which was a favorite among
Roman epicures in the days of Nero!

There was little doubt, therefore, that whatever prob-
lem was occupying Corwin’s mind at the present moment,
it would be something different from the usual, and,
judging from his excitement, something interesting and
quite out of the ordinary. My time was my own. I am
single by choice and wealthy enough to do what I like.
The prospect of sharing in another of Corwin’s adven-
tures, even in the humble capacity of mental chopping
block, appealed to me strongly.

These thoughts passed through my mind as I sped
across the city and into the open country until I dropped
on the wide lawn in front of Corwin’s house and found
myself shaking hands with my friend.

His tall, sinewy figure, piercing black eyes and thin,
prominent nose conveyed an impression of vitality and
mental alertness, which harmonized with his quick
gestures and emphatic speech. He was clad in tunic
and breeches of sombre brown, and had evidently been
engaged in some scientific work when he heard my plane
descending, for he carried an electrical instrument of
some kind in his left hand.

“Glad you were able to come, Frank! Have you had
lunch? Good. I thought I saw the dishes on the table
when I phoned you. Come into the lab and I'll tell you
what I'm up against.”

He led the way up the sloping gravel path into a
large low building which he used for the numerous tech-
nical experiments which he was often called upon to
perform in the course of his investigations. It was a
combination of laboratory, machine shop and observatory.

Astronomy was the hobby in which he found relief
from his other occupations. The revolving dome with
its telescope, spectroscope, cameras, and other instru-
ments, was small compared with the huge observatories
in other places, but was exceptionally complete and per-
fect in its appointments. He had been able to make

some very fine original discoveries, especially in the
asteroid belt and in the structure of spiral nebulae, and
the name of Hilary Corwin was mentioned respectfully
by professional astronomers.

Corwin kicked a chair into place for me and perched
himself on a high stool, around the legs of which he
twined his own lanky legs.

“This is going to be good !” he chuckled. “One of the
most baffling cases I’ve run across for a long time.
You've done me the honor, more than once, to compare
me to Sherlock Holmes. Possibly you think that I am
a ‘Jack of all trades and master of none,’ like your
detective hero. Well, this time we’re going to turn de-
tectives and go on a hunt for desperate criminals.”

“I’m a perfect reproduction of Dr. Watson in one
respect, Hil,” I commented. “I’m a first-class sample of
the genus Coward, and have no desire to place my life
in jeopardy fighting a gang of thugs!”

Corwin laughed boisterously and, jumping from his
stool, began to pace the floor, gesticulating and jerking
his head in the manner he always assumed when he was
delivering a lecture.

“You’ve heard about the big shipment of gold the
Government is sending to Rhodesia?”

I nodded. Everyone knew of the tremendously rapid
strides which the new Central African republic had been
making in the last few years as the result of the extensive
development of the radium mines there. With almost
unlimited credit, the immediate need of the Rhodesian
government was coin with which to pay the miners, and
the shipment to which Corwin referred was part of a
loan which was being made by the United States for
that purpose.

“Yesterday, fifty million dollars in gold coin was sent
from the Mint to the hangars of the Trans-Atlantic
Transportation Company. It was packed in heavy oak
chests, padlocked and sealed. The gold was moved in
motor lorries, accompanied by armed guards.

“On arrival at the hangars, the chests were transferred
to a building especially designed for the storage of
valuable shipments and were stacked in the middle of
the floor. Four guards were left in charge and the
doors were locked from the outside. The special freight
plane which was to take the money to Rhodesia was
scheduled to leave at eight o’clock this morning.

“The Rhodesian officials who were to accompany the
shipment arrived on the scene at seven-thirty and were
escorted to the storage building by an under-secretary
of the Treasury who had the keys. When they opened
the door they found that the gold had disappeared !”

“Disappeared!” I exclaimed. “Do you mean that it
had been stolen?”

“Presumably so,” answered Corwin, “but that is
simply theory, as I have no further information than
the bare fact that it had disappeared. Vanished!”

“What other explanation can there be ?” I protested.

“That remains to be seen,” answered Corwin. “I will
admit that I have another theory. As a general rule I
object to preconceived ideas, on prineiple. 'They generally
turn out to be wrong when confronted by cold facts, but
in this case the facts seem to be fairly obvious. The
gold was there at ten p. m. It wasn’t there at eight
a. m. The building had not been broken into. The
guards were still there. It would seem, therefore, that
the burglary theory is untenable, so I have permitted
myself to theorize to the extent of doing a little work in
the lab this morning.”

GOLD DUST AND STAR DUST

513

H e waved his hand to a combination of coils and
vacuum tubes which stood on a bench near one
of the windows.

How did you hear about this mysterious disappear-
ance?” I asked him.

“The under-secretary of whom I spoke phoned me at
about nine o’clock and asked me to come down and look
things over. I told him that criminology was one of
the few professions of which I claimed no knowledge.
He said that there were some features of the case which
he thought might interest me, and that the Government
would permit me to name my own fee, if I succeeded
in restoring the gold and would pay my expenses in
any case. So I accepted upon one condition.”

“What was that?” I asked.

“That I should be permitted to wait until this after-
noon before going down to the hangars and that, in the
meantime, nothing was to be disturbed. The secretary —
his name is Cogswell — seemed like an intelligent fellow,
though rather a wind-bag. He said that he had already
done what I suggested, after having sent for food for
the guards.”

“But why wait until this afternoon?” I demanded.
“It seems to me that the sooner you get there the better.
You might see clues. Fingerprints or something of
that sort.”

“I hope to get clues, certainly,” snapped Corwin, “but
as to seeing them, that is quite another thing. The clues
I hope to find will probably be invisible 1”

“I fully understand,” I smiled, satirically. “You think
the gold has been spirited away and you are going to
take a supply of ectoplasm to cause it to materialize
again 1”

“Don’t try to be funny, Frank,” replied Corwin,
calmly. “My theory is simply that the gold has been
hidden, either deliberately or accidentally, and I have
prepared this apparatus so that I caa find it, whether it
is in sight or not. Nothing very mysterious about that,
is there?”

“No, not at all!” I said, smarting under Corwin’s
contemptuous remark with reference to my powers of
humor. “I have no doubt you will find the fifty million
in a crack in the floor. It only weighs about a hundred
tons or morel Or possibly it got picked up by the
vacuum cleaner!”

“You are stimulating to the imagination!” Corwin ob-
served with enthusiasm. “Your comments are so inane
that they energize my mental powers by sheer force of
contrast! Now, if you have quite finished with the
comedy, perhaps you will assist me to pack this stuff
into the plane.”

In half an hour we arrived at the Trans-Atlantic
Hangars where we were met by Cogswell, the Treasury
man, and a couple of the Rhodesian officials. Cogswell
immediately started to give a long-winded account of
the mysterious robbery, as he called it, but Corwin cut
him short without ceremony.

“I’ll handle this job my own way, if you don’t mind,
Mr. Cogswell,” he snapped. “I take it that the Govern-
ment is chiefly interested in getting the money back.”

“Most certainly we are. Dr. Corwin,” exclaimed Cogs-
well, “and I can assure you ”

“If you can assure me of a dear field for my investiga-
tions, I shall be quite satisfied!” interrupted my friend
with finality. “Please take us to the storeroom.”

The huge hangars, capable of housing a dozen passen-
ger and freight planes, were ranged in a row facing the

sea. Behind them in a long, low building with narrow
gauge track running beside it, were the main express
offices, where goods for shipment to all parts of Europe
and Africa were sorted out and distributed to the various
hangars.

T he building where the Rhodesian gold had been
received stood by itself on the top of a small knoll
at some distance from the other buildings. It was of
solid stone and the few windows were heavily barred.
It had been erected for the safe handling of just such
valuable consignments as that for which we were now
searching.

Cogswell opened the heavy door and ushered us into
the building. As we entered, four men in the bright
yellow tunics and breeches of the Treasury Guard rose
from the table where they had been enjoying a late lunch,
and came forward.

“You will wish to question these men, I presume.
Doctor,” said Cogswell.

“Possibly,” replied Corwin, calmly. “If you will be
kind enough to have the two boxes brought from my
plane, Mr. Cogswell, I shall not trouble you any further.
No doubt you have other business to occupy your time.
I will notify you when I have located the gold.”

The Secretary looked at Corwin as if he could hardly
believe his ears. Evidently he was not accustomed to
being dismissed in such a summary manner.

“But, really. Dr. Corwin,” he stammered, flushing with
anger, “you apparently fail to realize that I am responsible
for the safety of this money. It is absolutely necessary
that I should be present during your investigations.”

“All right, have it your own way,” replied Corwin,
with undisturbed good humor. “Come along, Frank, we’ll
be on our way. Sorry to have troubled you about noth-
ing. You’ll come back to my place for dinner, I hope.”

Cogswell collapsed and retired with as much dignity
as he was able to assume. Corwin immediately started to
examine the room without paying any further attention
to the discomfited official.

The storeroom, which was about thirty feet square,
occupied the entire building. There were no partitions
and no furniture of any sort except a table and three or
four chairs which had been sent in to enable the im-
prisoned guards to eat their meals in comfort. The
floor was an unbroken slab of cement and the walls
were uncovered, being simply the inside faces of the
stone blocks of which the entire building was constructed.
There was no ceiling, the roof being of heavy sheet iron.

In short, there was no place in which one could have
concealed a single five dollar gold piece, to say nothing
of ten millions of them, besides a hundred heavy oak
chests.

Having in mind the methods of Sherlock Holmes and
other great detectives in the world of fiction, I looked
for my friend to produce a magnifying glass and begin
a long hunt for fingerprints, footmarks and other clues,
but I was doomed to disappointment. After a very
casual inspection of the room, he turned to the four
guards.

“I presume that you are in command,” he said briskly,
addressing one of the four, whose yellow tunic was
bordered with blue.

“Yes, sir,” answered the sergeant, saluting.

“In that event,” said Corwin, seating himself in one
of the chairs, “will you kindly state briefly the circum-
stances surrounding the disappearance of the gold?

514

AMAZING STORIES

Please omit nothing of importance but endeavor to re-
frain from the unnecessary loquacity which seems to be
characteristic of the Treasury officials.”

“I will try to do so, sir,” answered the sergeant, stiffly,
though his eyes twinkled at Corwin’s analysis of their
superior, and the glee of the other three was obvious.

“We accompanied the shipment from the Mint last
night, sir,” the guard went on, “arriving here at half
past six. After the cases had been counted by Mr.
Cogswell and myself, I signed a receipt for them and he
left, locking the door on the outside.

“Our orders were not to let the cases out of our sight,
although it’s hard to see how anything could happen to
them in here. However, I decided to take no chances
and ordered Blake here to sit on one of the chests. The
other two watched the windows and I spent most of the
night walking round and round the room.

“Just before daybreak ”

“Time !” snap])ed Corwin.

“Beg pardon, sir !” said the sergeant, “4 :45 a. m. as
near as I can tell.”

“Go on,” ordered Corwin, “and please try to be accu-
rate.”

“Well, sir, at about 4 ;45 a. m. one of the men who was
watching the windows called me over to sec a funny
light in the sky. It was a narrow band, almost like a
searchlight, only it didn’t spread at all. It was bluish in
color and passed directly overhead, running east and
west.”

“In which direction did it seem to originate?” queried
Corwin, leaning forward. I was wondering what pos-
sible bearing a light in the sky could have on the stolen
gold, but my friend seemed to be intensely interested.

“I can’t say, sir,” replied the sergeant. “You see, it
didn’t move or flicker at all but just got brighter and
brighter until we could hardly bear to look at it. Blake
heard our remarks and came over to see what we were
looking at. Just as he got to the window, the light went
out and at the same instant there was a most tremendous
crash, followed by a rumble.”

“A crash!” Corwin e-xclaimed. “What sort of crash,
and where?”

“Right here in the room, sir,” replied the sergeant. “It
sounded like a lot of heavy boxes rolling down a flight of
stairs. The sound got fainter and fainter and then died
away altogether. At the first bang we all turned around
and saw — well, sir, I don’t know as I can explain
properly what we saw.”

“Do your best, but make it short,” said Corwin, en-
couragingly.

“Well, sir, don’t blame me if it sounds crazy, but we
saw the cases, only we couldn’t see them. They were
tumbling all over each other, but they were standing per-
fectly still. They looked misty, kind of, and for a
moment I could see the gold inside quite distinctly. And
next thing we knew, they weren’t there at all. That’s
everything, sir.”

I WATCHED Corwin during this amazing farrago,
expecting every moment that he would cut the ser-
geant short. Even a child could see that the whole story
was a tissue of lies, very unskilfully designed to conceal
the real facts. No doubt existed in my mind that the
four guards were in collusion with the actual thieves. A
duplicate key, a gang of men to carry the chests to a
plane, hidden at a distance — why the whole plot was
obvious 1

But to my surprise, Corwin seemed to be paying the
closest attention to the sergeant’s wild story, and several
times he nodded his head as though in approval, espe-
cially at the mention of the beam of light in the sky
and at the impossible account of the disappearance of
the gold.

“Thank you. Sergeant,” he said, when the other had
ceased speaking. “Your conciseness and accuracy arc
most refreshing. Now, Frank, please give me a hand
with the apparatus.”

The various appliances which Corwin had brought
from his laboratory included four large coils of wire,
fastened together in pairs, each pair being provided with
terminals or binding posts. There was also a pair of
receivers of the radio type, an amplifier and the necessary
high and low tension batteries for its operation.

Corwin set up the amplifier and connected one of the
pairs of coils to it. The other pair were attached to a
handle about eight feet long and were also connected to
the amplifier by means of a long, flexible cable.

When the connections were complete, Corwin put on
the head receiver and begari to adjust the rheostats of
the amplifier. A puzzled expression passed over his
features and he rubbed his finger up and down his long
nose thoughtfully. Presently his face cleared and he
nodded vigorously.

“Take those exploring coils, Frank,” he ordered,
pointing to the pair which were provided with a handle.
“I want you to carry them backwards and forwards
across the room, holding them close to the floor. Cover
the whole area in regular bands.”

I FOLLOWED his instructions without protest, al-
though I was completely at a loss to understand what
he was attempting to do. Corwin made no comment as
I carried the coils backwards and forwards until I
reached the centre of the floor.

“Ah 1 Stop there 1” he cried, excitedly. “A little to
the left. No, not quite so far. Now, just a little this
way. There, stop there. Leave the coils lying and come
here.”

When I donned the receivers, my cars were assailed
by a high pitched singing. When Corwin picked up the
explqring coils as he called them, and moved them in
various directions, I noticed that the sound grew fainter,
being loudest at a point near the centre of the room and
about three feet above the floor.

“Beg, pardon, sir,” remarked the sergeant, who had
been watching Corwin’s antics with great interest, “that’s
where the boxes were piled.”

“So I judged,” replied Corwin, shortly. “They are
still here. You were quite correct when you said that
they did not appear to move.”

“Still here ?” questioned the sergeant, gaping.

“Yes, right here in' the middle of the room and also
a million miles or more away, maybe,” answered Corwin
calmly, as he turned to dismantle his apparatus.

Familiar with his methods, I knew Corwin too well to
bother him with questions. He would explain when he
was ready to explain ; not a moment before. Although I
had gathered nothing from our visit to the store-room
save the mere skeleton of a theory, Corwin, I knew,
had done much more. The satisfaction on his gaunt face
betrayed the fact that he regarded the “job” as prac-
tically finished.

“We are going for a little walk,” he remarked to the
sergeant. “My friend and I have never seen the hangars

GOLD DUST AND STAR DUST

515

and the opportunity is too good to miss. Kindly have
these boxes put in my plane. By the way, sergeant, I
regret that it will be necessary for you and your men
to remain here until this evening to guard the gold. You
must not forget that it is .still there in the middle of the
room, even though you can’t see it ! Come along, Frank.”

And he walked out, leaving the guards open-mouthed.

When we were out of ear-shot, I could contain myself
no longer.

“Your acting was admirable, Hil,” I burst out. “What
a splendid detective you would have made! You de-
ceived those guards completely. Why, when you were
pretending to go through some mysterious rigmarole with
the amplifier, you even deceived me for a moment.”

Corwin stared at me as though I had taken leave of
my senses.

“Acting ! Deceiving ! Rigmarole !” he exclaimed. “I
am afraid I don’t quite get you.”

“You certainly gave the sergeant a Roland for his
Oliver,” I went on, laughing, “with your jargon about
the gold being right there and a million miles away. And
then, to make them stay to stand guard over nothing!
What a joke !”

“Oh I I see what you mean,” replied Corwin, his face
clearing. “Yes, very clever of me, wasn’t it? Ha-ha!
By the way, you don’t happen to own any stock in the

Vrilol company, do you? That might make a difference.”

Now it was my turn to stare. As it happened, I did
not own any stock in the great corporation which had the
monopoly of Vrilol, the universal fuel for airplane en-
gines, and I had often regretted the fact, but what
bearing this had upon the Rhodesian gold, I failed
to see. 4

“Because, if you do, I should advise you to sell,” Cor-
win went on, without waiting for an answer. “Vrilol
will soon be as obsolete as gasoline.”

“How so?” I asked. “Some new discovery of yours
going to replace it?”

“It is quite evident that you do not keep abreast of
the times, my dear Frank. Surely you have heard that
the Marconi interests have at last perfected Beam Power
Transmission. In three months’ time passenger planes
will draw their power from the ether. In fact the first
Beam plane will cross the Atlantic from here to-morrow.”

AS we were talking, we approached a large building
jLx. at some distance from the hangars and about four
hundred yards west of the stone store-room. In front
of this building was a double row of steel towers, each
bearing a highly polished globe or rather ellipsoid of
copper.

“The Paris beam station,” exclaimed Corwin. “The

In front of the large biiililing zms a double rent' of steel
tozvers. each bearing a highly polished globe or rather
ellipsoid of copper. "The Paris beam station" exclaimed
Corwin. "The first of its hind."

516

AMAZING STORIES

first of its kind. Want to go up and have a look? I
happen to know the engineer in charge.”

My friend was greeted with the utmost cordiality by
the engineer who was superintending the final adjust-
ments of the great plant. He escorted us around the
building, explaining everything with a flood of techni-
calities, which left me gasping for breath, but which my
friend seemed to understand perfectly.

“This is the Generator Room,” he explained. “Eight
Sawchuk Alternators direct driven by Ralston High
Pressure Vrilol Turbines. Those are the Oscillators, the
Modulators and the Mixers” — he pointed to a bank of
huge vacuum tubes, similar to the tubes in our television
amplifiers, but fully twenty feet in height.

“You see, Frank,” remarked Corwin, “the Power Beam
is only about ten feet wide where it leaves the station
and not over fifty feet wide at Paris. It is possible to
confine the waves to a narrow path by utilizing the
principle of interference or heterodyning, as it is called.
Have you given the plant a try-out?” he asked, turning
to the engineer.

“We turned on the power for a few minutes this
morning and ran a thousand horse motor in Paris suc-
cessfully, but the main circuit breaker blew out after
about three minutes. We’ve been readjusting it today.”

“At what time did the breaker go out ?” asked Corwin.

“It would be about a quarter before five, I guess. It
was a pretty sight while the test lasted. The ionization
of the air particles in the path of the beam lights up the
country for a mile or more on each side. The pilots won’t
have any trouble in keeping their course at night, even
without the automatic controls for which we have you to
thank. Doctor 1”

My growing feeling that Corwin had not suggested
visiting the new Beam Station simply to satisfy my
curiosity, became a certainty with the Engineer’s descrip-
tion of the morning test. This, then, was the strange
light which the Treasury guards had seen and which I
had put down as a deliberate invention designed to con-
ceal their complicity in the crime.

Corwin, with his scientific knowledge and sense of
logic, had in.stantly jumped at the correct explanation,
but why he should have wasted time in checking the
accuracy of his theory was quite beyond me. The ap-
pearance of the beam of light was an unfortunate
accident which served to distract the attention of the
guards just at the moment when the robbery took place ;
nothing more. Surely Corwin did not suppose that the
disappearance of the gold at the exact moment when the
beam was shut off, was anything but a coincidence. It
would almost appear so, yet the idea was so unreasonable,
that I could not bring myself to entertain it.

During the short walk to the hangars and the flight
back to his house, Corwin did not speak and I refrained
from intnrding upon the mine of thought in which he
buried himself and from which, by past experience, I
believed that he would emerge with what he sought.

W HEN we entered the laboratory, Corwin aroused
himself from his brown study and clapped me on
the back.

“Well, Frank,” he cried cheerfully, “another little job
finished. What did you think of it?”

“Think of it !” I repeated. “What can I think except
that you have failed?”

“Ah! You think so?” he smiled, and walking across
to the telephone, dialed a number.

“Mr. Cogswell? Yes, this is Corwin speaking. Will
you kindly be at the store-room at ten o’clock to receive
the Rhodesian Gold? What’s that? No, no. I haven’t
got it back, because it’s still there. Oh! Yes. You
might bring four more guards. It will hardly do to
ask the same nien to take duty for another night.”

As he hung the receiver on the hook I could hear
Cogswell’s voice, shrill with excitement, pouring forth
a stream of unanswered questions.

“Now then, Frank,” said Corwin, perching himself
on his favorite stool, “I take it from your remark about
failure that you are not quite clear on some points. For-
give my seeming discourtesy, but you know I never like
to talk until I have finished with a job. Now I’m
ready to answer any questions you care to ask.”

“Well, in the first place, what was the contraption
with the amplifier and the coils?” I queried.

“Nothing very mysterious about that, Frank,” he re-
plied. “It was simply a Kelvin Balance. One of the
tubes in the amplifier is arranged to deliver an oscillating
current at audio frequency; that was the shrill whistle
you heard. The four coils are inductances connected in
such a way that under normal conditions they are bal-
anced with respect to the receivers, in which case no
sound can be heard. When the two coils on the handle
are brought in proximity with any considerable mass of
metal, the balance is disturbed and current flows in the
receivers, producing an audible sound which becomes
louder as the coils approach the metal.

“I will admit that when we went to the hangars I
entertained the idea that the gold had been concealed
somewhere in the vicinity; buried under the floor, per-
haps. A casual inspection put that theory out of court.
Nevertheless, I determined to try the Balance and was
somewhat surprised to find that the loud whistle indi-
cated that the gold was still in the centre of the room.
Since it was apparent to neither sight nor touch, it was
obvious that in some way it had become both invisible and
intangible, or, to put it more accurately, that the gold
was both there and not there. Perhaps I shall make
myself clearer by saying that it was there electrically, but
not there to the human senses.

“The sergeant’s story confirmed my suspicions. Note
that at the instant of the disappearance, the guards
received the impression that the oak cases were trans-
parent. They seemed to move and yet seemed to be
stationary. Possibly, to you, that sounded like non-
sense. To me it was an exact description of what took
place. The beam of light across the sky which I recog-
nized immediately as the effect of the new Beam Station
furnished the only missing link in the chain of logic.”

“But I still don’t understand, Hil,” I protested, utterly
mystified. “You say the gold is still there. If so, why
can’t we see and feel it.”

“Simply because it has fallen through what is vul-
garly known as the Fourth Dimension,” stated Corwin,
calmly.

“Oh, come, Hil I” I cried, laughing. “That’s going a
bit too far ! The Fourth Dimension is all very well as
a subject for imaginative fiction, but you can hardly
expect to convince me or anyone else that such a thing
really exists.”

“I was never more serious in my life, Frank,” said
Corwin.

“But how can you prove the existence of a Fourth
Dimension?” I objected.

“The shoe is on the other foot, Frank. How can you

GOLD DUST AND STAR DUST

517

prove that there is no Fourth Dimension, or Fifth or
Sixth or Twelfth Dimension for that matter?”

For a moment I was nonplussed and before I could
think of a logical answer, Corwin went on.

“Let me ask you a few questions, Frank. How do you
know that there are more than two dimensions?”

“Why, by seeing them, of course,” I answered. “Take
that box over there for example. You can see that it
has length, breadth and height. But you can’t see that it
has — whatever you call distance — in the Fourth Dimen-
sion.”

“'T’^HAT’S where you make a very common mistake,

A Frank,” said Corwin. “I mean in supposing that
you can see in three dimensions. If you think for a
moment you will realize that you can see in only two
dimensions; in the flat, as it were. It is true that for
very near objects we have a sense of solidity due to the
fact that we have two eyes, which gives us the stereo-
scopic parallax as I may call it, but everything beyond a
certain distance, say a hundred feet, we see practically
in the flat and we owe our knowledge of the third dimen-
sion, not to the sense of sight, but to another of the
senses.”

"Do you mean the sense of touch?” I asked, doubt-
fully, after a moment’s thought.

“Certainly!” said Corwin. “Suppose you pick up a
culje — a child’s building block, for example — in such a
manner that your thumb and fingers touch three adja-
cent sides simultaneously, you are conscious through
your sense of touch of three dimensions. Our impres-
sion that we see in three dimensions is purely an illusion.
The sight has to be educated by touch before we can
learn to judge distances.”

I sat silently, turning over Corwin’s arguments in my
mind. Seeing that I was not quite satisfied, he picked
up a book from the table with an impatient gesture.

“Have you read this?” he asked abruptly.

“What is it?” I returned.

“Can’t you read?” he demanded.

“Of course I can, but you’re holding the wrong face of
the book towards me.” I said.

"What difference does that make?” he asked, with a
quizzical twinkle in his eyes. “If you can see in three
dimensions, as you contend, you should be able to see all
sides of the book at once.”

“I give in !” I exclaimed, laughing. “But I don’t quite
under.stand what you are driving at.” ■

“Simply this, Frank,” he said. “That you must not
expect to Ite conscious of the Fourth Dimension through
the sense of sight, since you cannot see even in three di-
mensions. If we ever come to know anything about the
Fourth Dimension at all, it will be through the sense of
touch.”

“But we can’t feel in four dimensions, can we?” I
demanded.

“No, you are right,” replied Corwin. “We cannot
feel in four dimensions for the simple reason that there
is nothing to feel. As far as we know, solid objects have
no extension in the Fourth Dimension. Imagine a man
who had spent all his life on a flat desert, extending in
all directions to the horizon. Never having had any
training in more than two dimensions, it is conceivable
that if he were suddenly brought face to face with a
mountain, he would not know what he was looking at.
It would be meaningless to him. He could not grasp it

any more than we can grasp the possibility of a four
dimensional object.”

“But you say that there is nothing in the Fourth
Dimension,” I said. “How can you know that?”

“By a simple analogy,” Corwin answered. “Take the
case of our imaginary desert dweller. If a mountain
were suddenly dumped down in the middle of his desert,
he could not see it, because he would not have the neces-
sary training to see in three dimensions, but he would
certainly be aware of it, because he would find an im-
passable barrier blocking his way to an area, which he
was formerly able to reach without difficulty. Similarly,
if four-dimensional objects existed in our part of space,
we should constantly find ourselves confronted by in-
visible and yet impassable barriers.”

“■\^OUR arguments are difficult to contradict,” I ad-

X mitted, “but all this is theory and I cannot see what
practical application the theories have to the present
case.”

“Look here!” explained Corwin, jumping up and
running over to a blackboard, where he made a rapid
sketch.

- C 1 g , -<? ■■g

Fig. 1.

“These are supposed to be four bars,” he explained,
pivoted at the ends and having the centres joined by
rubber bands. The thick lines are the bars and the thin
lines represent the rubber bands. You must try to
imagine that the bars have no thickness and that the
bands simply represent forces which are tending to pull
the centres of the bars towards one another. In other
words, the whole thing has one dimension only — length.
The bars would remain in the position shown, because the
pull of the bands is lengthways, in which direction the
bars are rigid.

“Now suppose that we tilt one of the bars ever so
slightly out of line with the others, what will happen?”
■ “The bars will be drawn into a square by the rubber
bands,” I replied.

“Exactly ! Like this,” and he made a drawing.

“You see,” he went on, “we have taken four one-
dimensional objects — lines — ^applied a tractive force,
given them a slight tilt in the Second Dimension and
produced a (tco-dimensional outline — a square.

518

AMAZING STORIES

“Now take a step further. Here are six squares, their
centres joined by rubber bands as before —

“They are in a state of equilibrium until you tilt one
of them ever so little out of the plane of the others.
What will happen?”

“They will form a cube!” I answered.

“Precisely!” assented Corwin, “and it will JooR Jike
this,” and he drew another outline.

“We have taken six two-dimensional objects — squares
— applied a tractive force as before, given them a slight
tilt in the Third Dimension and presto! We have a
t/irce-dimensional outline — a cube.

“Note, Frank, that objects in each dimension form
the boundaries of objects in the next higher dimension.
Thus we can make a little table like this and he wrote
on the board :

Two Points (no dimension) bound a Line (one
dimension)

Four Lines (one dimension) bound a Square (two
dimensions)

Six Squares (two dimensions) bound a Cube (three
dimensions)

Eight Cubes (three dimensions) bound a Tesseract
(four dimensions)

“Here are the eight cubes.”

With surprising facility, he produced the following
drawing on the board :

“The centres of the cubes are supposed to be attracted
by forces,” Corwin explained. “We cannot use rublier
bands as before, because the cubes are solid, therefore we
must imagine some force like magnetic attraction. The
cubes will remain immovable, that is to say in stable
equilibrium, unless we give one of them a slight tilt out
of line with the others in the Fourth Dimension. Then
they will be drawn into the form of a Tesseract, as a
four-dimensional object is called. The faces which
bear similar figures will come into contact; number 1
with number 1, and so on.”

“But what would it look like?” I asked, somewhat
staggered by Corwin’s unanswerable demonstration.

“If we could see it at all,” he replied, “it would look
something like this and he produced another sketch.

“Well, but that simply represents a small cul)e inside
a large one. The original cubes were all the same size.”

“That is an illusion of perspective,” Corwin explained.
“The cube appears smaller because it is further away
from you in the Fourth Dimension, just exactly as the
square which forms the distant side of a culte appears
smaller than the square which forms the nearer side.
Measure the front and back faces of the cube in Figure
4 and you will see what I mean.”

I looked at Corwin’s la.st drawing thoughtfully, tilting
my head first one way and then the other.

GOLD DUST AND STAR DUST

519

“I’m sorry, Hilary,” I said at length. “I have heard
your explanations. I’ll even go so far as to say that I
understand them. But, somehow, I can’t seem to grasp
that Tesseract of yours. Whatever way I look, it’s just
a little cube inside a big cube.”

“Of course you can’t grasp it 1” replied Corwin, smil-
ing. “Neither can an Australian Bushman ‘grasp’ a
photograph. It’s a matter of visual education.”

I TURNED away from the tantalizing sketch with a
sigh of resignation. The longer I looked at it the
more I felt that I was just on the point of seeing some-
thing, only to have it snatched away.

“All right, Hil, I’ll take your word for it,” I said.
Now tell me how all this applies to the gold.”

“I have explained the Fourth Dimension at some
length, Frank, to show you that there is nothing so very
mysterious about it. Picture those oak cases of gold
coins piled one on top of another. Enormously heavy.
Acted upon by we can’t say what forces, gravitational or
electrical in the Fourth Dimension. All they needed was
that tiny tilt out of line to cause them to fall a short
distance in that Fourth Dimension. The distance they
fell would not need to be very great for the chests and
their contents to pass entirely beyond our ken.”

“You speak of a slight tilt in the Fourth Dimension,
nil,” I commented, “but what could possibly give the
cases of gold any such tilt ?”

“Pooh! Where’s your imagination, man?” cried
Corwin. “What else could it be but the new Power
Beam or rather the shutting off of the Power Beam
when the circuit breaker blew. I have ascertained that
the plane of the beam exactly intersects the centre of
the store-room. I have long held the theory that mag-
netic lines of force are actually the result of a strain in
the ether acting in the Fourth Dimension. Some day I
intend to publish an article on the subject.”

“I can understand that the Power Beam must produce
a tremendous strain in the ether,” I said, but why did not
the gold fall into the Fourth Dimension when the Beam
was first turned on?”

“Here, let me illustrate!” exclaimed Corwin, snatch-
ing up a rubber band from his desk. “Catch hold of one
end of this band, which represents the ether. You under-
.stand that they start the Power Beam gradually by means
of rheostats. I will represent the condition of the ether
by stretching the rubber band slowly. Now I hold it
fully stretched. This is the condition with the Beam
working at full strength.”

Suddenly he released his end of the band, which re-
coiled violently, cutting me sharply across the knuckles.

“Ouch!” I cried, withdrawing my hand with an in-
voluntary jerk.

“Preci.sely! Ouch!” mimicked my friend. “That
represents the sudden shutting off of the Beam. Is the
demonstration clear ?”

I agreed that it was and, the lecture being complete, we
adjoined to Corwin’s house for dinner.

A r a cpiarter to ten that night, Hilary Corwin and I
alighted once more at the flying fields where we
found Cogswell, the Treasury Official, awaiting us. It
was apparent immediately that Cogswell was in a very
bad temper, but a glance from Corwin was sufficient to
remind him that he was likely to get the worst of a verbal
encounter with the scientist.

We walked up to the store-room which was dimly lit
by means of two hand-lanterns, the electric lights having
gone out of commission at the same time that the gold
disappeared.

“Now, Mr. Cogswell,” said Corwin, “I promised to
notify you when I had found the gold. This I have done
and at ten o’clock precisely, I hope to demonstrate the
correctness of my theory.”

“Is it permissible for a mere Government official to ask
what that theory is?” queried Cogswell, satirically.

“Certainly it is permissible,” replied Corwin, blandly,
“but no answer will be vouchsafed 1 I should like to
point out that your duties are restricted to receiving the
gold from me. My duty is to find the gold and return
it to you. I suggest that we shall do well to abstain from
interfering with each other in the performance of our
resjtective duties.”

For a few seconds I thought that poor Cogswell would
burst a blood vessel, but Corwin comitletely ignored the
furious official and continued in a quiet voice :

“It is two minutes to ten, gentlemen. Please take your
places along the north and south walls of the room. I
would not be resjtonsible for the safety of any person
in the centre of the room at ten o’clock. As my friend
here has reminded me, the Rhodesian gold weighs very
many tons ! Forty seconds more. At ten o’clock, Frank,
the Power Beam will be turned on full strength. The
sudden strain on the ether thus produced will, I hope,
reverse the action of the previous strain and, presto — Ah 1
Here comes the gold, Mr. Cogswell.”

The room was lit by a glare of bluish white light, so
intense that involuntarily I clapped my hand over my
eyes. Then I heard a faint rumbling sound, seeming to
come from an immense distance.

I withdrew my hand and looked towards the centre of
the floor. There, hovering in the air, was a tiny opaque
spot which rapidly grew larger. In a few seconds it was
as large as an orange.

“Holy Moses ! It’s the gold !” shouted the Sergeant.

There it was, a hundred massive oak cases hanging in
the air and occupying a space not larger than an orange 1
It was like looking at them through the wrong end of a
telescope. Suddenly it flashed across me that the cases
looked small because we were viewing them from a great
distance ; a distance measured in the Fourth Dimension.

Larger and larger grew the cases, louder and louder
became the rumbling sound. Then there was a last tre-
mendous bump, a dense cloud of choking dust filled the
room and — silence.

“The Rhodesian Gold, Mr. Cogswell,” said Corwin,
calmly.

It would be hopeless for me to attempt to describe the
excitement of the four guards, the Secretary and myself
over this dramatic culmination. The great oak chests
were there, piled in the centre of the floor as neatly as
they had been twenty-four hours sooner. Only one
thing was changed. The outside of the cases wtis thickly
coated with a fine, crystalline dusit, a dust which gleamed
and scintillated with every color of the spectrum, as
though it were crushed opals.

At the sight of this strange dust, Corwin displayed his
first sign of interest. He had whipped out a pocket
magnifying glass and was examining the surface of the
chests, when Cogswell interrupted him.

“My dear Dr. Corwin!” he began pompously, ex-
panding his chest like a pouter pigeon. “I wish to con-

520

AMAZING STORIES

vey to you the hearty thanks of the Government for the
remarkably efficient way in which you have conducted
this investigation. You will not find the Government
lacking in appreciation — .

This was as far as Corwin allowed him to get in his
speech.

“All right, all right, Mr. Cogswell!” he exclaimed
with an impatient gesture. “I can dispense with the rhet-
oric. The Government may show its appreciation by
sending me a cheque for fifty thousand dollars to-
morrow.”

“F-f-fifty thousand!” stammered Cogswell, “Well,
really. Dr. Corwin — ”

“Oh! Of course, if you don’t think one tenth of one
per cent is a large enough commission, by all means make
it more ! Frank, would you kindly get me one of those
instrument cases out of the plane. I wish to take this
dust to the laboratory for analysis.”

T his is really the end of the story, which Hilary
Corwin has permitted me to make public, but there
was a sequel which, if possible, was more amazing than
anything else connected with this strange case.

When we returned to Corwin’s house, he hurried me
into the laboratory to help him with an investigation of
the glittering powder.

“We’ll try the spectroscope first, Frank?” he said.
“As you probably know, that is an instrument for analyz-
ing light. I shall heat a sample of the powder to in-
candescence and allow the light from the vapor to pass
through this prism. Each substance emits its own char-
acteristic light. Very often the spectroscope is the
quickest and most accurate means of determining the
comiKJsition of an unknown substance.”

While he talked he prepared and focused the instru-
ment, arranged a spirit lamp in front of the slit and put
a minute portion of the dust on a platinum wire. This
he inserted in the colorless flame, which immediately
flared into brilliant purple.

Corwin applied his eye to the eye-piece. Next moment
he was dancing round the room like a madman.

“The double in Andromeda!” he shouted. “More
than forty thousand light-years ! The double in Andro-
meda! Look for yourself!” and he seized my arm and
dragged me to the instrument.”

I looked into the eye-piece and saw five vertical lines
of light, spaced at irregular intervals against a wall of
darkness. Two of the lines were deep blue, one emerald
green and two were crimson.

“But what is it? What does it mean?” I asked won-
deringly.

By this time Corwin had calmed down to some extent.
“It means, Frank, that I have discovered the only
missing element,” he said. “This box of dust is the only
known sample on earth and it will probably remain the
only known sample. It shall be called Corwinium. I
knew that this substance existed, but I little thought that
I should ever isolate it.”

“But if you have never seen it before, how did you
know that it existed ?” I asked, almost as excited as he
had been.

“You know the history of Helium — but come, I will
show you !” and he led the way to his observatory.

At the pressure of a button, a slit in the dome swung
open and the dome revolved until the telescope pointed
to the western sky. Corwin spent some moments adjust-
ing the great tube and then motioned for me to take his
place at the eye-piece.

In a velvet sky, spangled with points of light, I saw
two stars, very close together and purple in hue.

“That is the famous double star in Andromeda,”
Corwin explained. “It is situated at a distance of forty
thousand light-years from the earth, or about two hun-
dred and thirty-five thousand million million miles. You
know that astronomers use the “Light-Year” as a unit of
distance, that being the distance light travels in a year.
Now we will try the spectroscope.”

Rapidly he attached an elaborate instrument to the eye-
piece of the telescope.

“By means of the spectroscope, we are enabled to
analyse the composition of the stars, precisely as we can
analyse substances in the laboratory. Now look!”

Again I peered into the glass; but this time, instead
of the twin stars I saw ten vertical lines of light. Four
were deep blue, two emerald green and four were
crimson. They were identical in color and spacing with
those produced by the crystalline powder, save that each
line was double.

As I looked up at Corwin, my face must have been a
study in bewilderment.

“Don’t you see what that means, Frank?” he said.
“Our new element, Corwinium, has never been dis-
covered on earth. Its spectrum has never been seen,
save in the light of that double star in Andromeda. So
far as we know, Corwinium does not exist anywhere in
the universe, save in those twin stars. That dust on the
gold chests is star dust; dust from countless billions of
miles away.”

By this time I was ready to believe anything Hilary
Corwin told me. Besides, in this case, the evidence for
his otherwise incredible statement was before my eyes.
It did not admit of contradiction.

“But, Hil,” I said, a little breathlessly, “how could
dust come from a star all that distance away?”

“In the first place, Frank,” he said “that dust did not
come from the twin stars themselves. They are suns
like our own and inconceivably hot. It came from one of
the planets revolving around the double star. That
planet may be, in fact is, forty thousand light-years away
in three dimensions. But due to the curvature of space,
it is touching our own earth in the Fourth Dimension.

“When the Power Beam was turned on this evening,
the chests of gold came back. They came back across
the cosmic universe, bringing with them the dust of in-
finite space — the star dust of the double star in
Andromeda !”

The End

521

The Red Peril

By Capt. S. P. Meek, U. S. A.

(Continued from page 503)

against the unprotected sides of the doomed Russian
and tore great holes in the fabric even as the stricken
ship plunged into the vraves of the Atlantic. The trans-
port swung its projector tube in the direction of the
three remaining Soviet craft.

“Keep up the fire!” cried the Marshal.

A rain of radite shells was poured into the doomed
craft. As the tube pointed in its direction and Hamil-
ton’s generators came into coincidence with the Rus-
sian’s, the hum momentarily ceased and the shells took
effect. Another of the invaders crashed, a flaming ruin,
into the sea. The other two turned to fly, but they
were too late. First one and then the other was covered
by the projector connected with Hamilton’s generator
and, riddled with radite shells, took the last long plunge
into oblivion. Van Hornung spoke again through his
communicator.

“All ships in formation.” he directed. “Scouts go
ahead and bombers follow the flagship. We have elim-
inated the only Russian craft that we need fear and
we are about to invade Russia and dictate peace terms
to Leningrad.”

*******

W HAT is that island, Boris?” asked Isabel Ves-
toff as she looked languidly through the windows
of a luxurious cruising aerostat at the waters of the
South Atlantic.

“That is St. Helena,” he answered as he glanced at
the map before him.

“Oh, it is? Isn’t that where the Russian leaders are
exiled?” she asked.

“Yes. They are exiled there with a field force from
Nashky’s generators surrounding the island. No ship
can land there except on the one day a month when the
generators are silent for an hour to allow supplies to be
landed.”

“I think it is wonderful that Field Marshal Van
Hornung should have been able to subdue Russia with
hardly any loss of life.”

The

“It was only because the Russian people were tired
of being ground into the dirt by the Council of Seven
and the Commissars. As soon as they found out that
the power of the Soviet rulers was broken, they looked
on the Allied fleet as their deliverers and all they asked
was that a commission be appointed to govern the coun-
try until they had learned to govern themselves enough
to be admitted to the Confederate States of Europe.
Van Hornung is a great man.”

“Not as great as you and General Hamilton, Boris.”

“I’ll admit that you are right as far as Hamilton is
concerned. But for his generators, my work would
have been useless. I might have checked the pneumonia,
but they would have showered the world with some other
worse disease that we could not have checked. I couldn’t
have got into Russia again.”

“Yes, that is true, but all the same, except for you,
countless millions would have died of pneumonia, I
among them.”

“Yes, our work fitted in nicely. I was just in the nick
of time to save you. Another two hours and I would
have been too late. But while you’re talking about
heroes, don’t forget to mention my sister. She was the
nerviest one of the bunch.”

“She was a real heroine and there is nothing that the
world wouldn’t give her, but I never could understand
why she gave up everything to marry Balinsky and live
in exile with him. What do you suppose they will do
with him?”

“Ilga says that since Von Helmer operated and re-
moved a bloodclot from his brain that he is perfectly
sane and is spending his life in repenting for the evil
he has done, and in working on new serums to cure the
few diseases which we have not conquered. If he con-
tinues at that work for a few years, I expect that he
will be allowed to leave St. Helena and spend the bal-
ance of his life in the comfort to which his genius and
good deeds entitle him.”

“What will be done with the rest?”

“Nothing, I think. They will be left in exile and in
time they will die. With their passing, the world will
be forever freed from the menace of the Red Peril.”

End

The Triumph of the Machines

I had a vision of a far-off age:

Steel-bosomed saurians, in a snorting band,

Went rumbling, flashing through a flame-red land.
And wide, green valleys blackened at their rage.
Meadow and stream were but a blood-marked stage
Where lightning plunged, and fiery whirlwinds fanned
Huge clanking reptiles, gray and iron-manned.

Which prowled like dragons from earth’s primal page.

“Are these the dinosaurs of some dead past?”

I murmured: and a mournful voice replied:
“Monsters still unbegotten, which shall cast
Flame and destruction over field and tide.

When man, their maker, in world-shaking pride.
Shall bring the Age of Lizards back at last!”

Stanton A. Coblentz

The C oral

Experiment

By Alexander Snyder

W E can depend upon Mr. Snyder for a new idea every knows how grateful we should he for the successful termU
time. And here he introduces a dentist, who is not nation of such an experiment as is depicted in this story,
only somewhat of a scientist and knows coral well and It is not at all unlikely that the idea expounded by our
intimately, but he is also a humanitarian and therefore feels author will take root somewhere for the good of all of us
with his patients. Anybody who has ever had a tooth filled who have to place ourselves in the dentist’s hands.

IMBLE was a sad-faced, quiet little man in
the late thirties, so colorless as to appear-
ance and personality that he blended with
any public background almost to the point
of invisibility.

Without in the least intending to be rude, you’d crowd
him off the curb in passing, elbow him aside in the sub-
way during rush hours, or step into line in front of him
at ticket windows because of his very negativeness.

Privately, however. Wimble made strong men falter,
women shrink, and children tremble when they met him
for the first time. After that introduction, they didn’t
dread him so much, because, surprisingly. Wimble so
infused them with his unsuspected courage and cheeri-
ness that they forgot to be afraid.

Wimble was a dentist, be frankly advised at the outset,
because you may not want to read further when you
know that fact. The less you know about dentists, you
may say, the better pleased you’ll be.

But Wimble has something so wonderful for you and
for me and for everybody with teeth, that you’re bound to
listen when you learn that his great secret is in peril
of being lost forever.

You see. Wimble practiced for fifteen years in an
immaculate little coop of an office, gently greeting timid
patients, bokstering them u]) with a word here, a sooth-
ing smile there ; working with so light and deft a touch,
doing it so cleverly and honestly, that in spite of his
being a dentist, when he finished with his patients, they
were his friends.

They’d say to him on parting, “You’re all right. Doctor.
T’m not afraid of you any more. But that drilling!
Can’t you fill teeth without drilling ?’’

“It can’t be done,” he’d answer decisively. “Not if
you want honest work.”

Year in and year out Wimble drew on his reserves of
nervous energy in order to soothe his patients, and the

strain began to tell on him. He still remained inherently
cheerful in his office; but after hours, the corners of
his mouth drew down still further, and he wore a
puzzled, preoccupied expression.

Instead of using his free hours for exercise in the fresh
air, and for recreation, he secreted himself in the library
of his comfortable bachelor quarters, and pored over
te.xt-books pertaining to his profession until the wee sma’
hours. Thence to bed and restless sleep, and on to
the next day’s work, unrefreshed in mind and body.

Nature slaps people who flout her that way, and
Wimble was no exception to the rule.

He became an object of solicitude to his physician and
two speciali.sts, and when they had finished with him, he
meekly agreed to put a substitute in his place and take
a sea trip for several months, with the alternative of a
complete nervous breakdown as the price of disobedience.

He could well afford a vacation, being possessed of a
goodly bank account derived from his practice and nu-
merous fortunate real estate speculations, and he sailed
with the best intentions in the world of following the
doctor’s injunction to, “Forget your office and practice
completely. Go out and relax and enjoy yourself. For
Heaven’s sake, man, don’t you know how to play? Can’t
you fall in love or something ?”

Wimble wouldn’t fall in love and didn’t want to. He
could and would play, thoroughly enjoying the deck
sports. But now and again when his ship touched at
some port and unloaded cargo, the rattle and rumble of
the steam winches vaguely reminded him of the drilling
engine in the office back home, and the parting words of
his old patients, “You’re all right. Doctor; but that
drilling 1”

With an effort, he’d forcibly eject such thoughts and
take a turn or two about the deck. On the whole he
did very well, acquiring a healthy tan, putting on weight,
and walking with a real sea-going swagger.

522

“Yep,” said the purser laconically,
coral.”

“Bottom’s white

ALADDIN rubbing his lamp for the first time could
have received no greater shock on seeing the genie
appear than did Wimble at the ])urser’s ordinary remark.

One second he was Tourist Wimble, convalescing den-
tist, bound home to resume the routine he had Iteen
accustomed to for fifteen years, and the next he was
a man with a purpose so important to his peace of mind,
that he decided instantly to renounce his familiar world
of comfort and safety, and devote his life to the fulfil-
ment of this purpose, though he should pursue the quest
> to the ends of the earth.

From that time on until the ship docked in New York
two weeks later he restrained his imi)atience with such
I an effort that he almost crackled like an overcharged
f Leyden jar.

Illustrated by

WALLIT

One day the steamer anchored in the little harbor of
St. George’s, Grenada, in the British West Indies, and a
crowd of naked pickaninnies swam out to the ship and
dived for coins flung overboard by amused passengers.

Wimble fi.shed into his pocket, abstracted a shiny six-
pence, and flipped it into the water. He watched it catch
and throw back the rays of the sun as it zigzagged
erratically down through the clear depths, until a blurred
figure scoo])ed it up in a triumphant hand, almost at the
bottom. He turned to the purser who stood next him
at the rail, and said in astonishment : “The bottom must
be thirty feet down! Yet you can see it clearly!”

A month of hardy existence metamor-
phosed him into a brown merman,
who spent as much time under water
as above it, by means of a simple tube
and float arrangement which enabled
him to remain submerged for an hour
at a time.

523

524

AMAZING STORIES

He sold his practice immediately to his substitute, an
eager buyer, and converted his holdings into cash.

He haunted the Hydrographic Office for days, pored
over charts of the Pacific Ocean, inhabited the Public
Library until closing time, and made the acquaintance
of sundry mariners in the rooms of the Masters’, Mates’,
and Pilots’ Association.

Following this period of feverish activity, he shipped
numerous heavy crates and cases to San Francisco, going
out to the Coast after them. There he gathered his stuff
together and took passage aboard a small cargo steamer
(on the articles as purser, salary : one cent a month), and
found himself in Melbourne some weeks later. He
changed again at the latter port for a smaller and stil)
dirtier tramp headed for Papeete.

Here he chartered a schooner, manned by Kanakas and
captained by a hard drinking individual known in those
waters as “Squareface” Burnell. Burnell’s drinking
capabilities interested Wimble less than the fact that the
man was a walking compendium of knowledge pertaining
to lesser known and uncharted islands of the South
Pacific.

Wimble stocked up on provisions enough to last him
a year, and banked the rest of his money per draft, in
Papeete, where he left a letter of instructions for Captain
Burnell, to be called for a year later.

Now he cleared away for ports unknown. As each
speck of land came up over the horizon. Wimble was all
aquiver in the hope that it might prove to be what he was
searching for; but one by one the little islands were
pronounced as unsatisfactory for his purpose.

All of them were covered with vegetation, and Wimble
wanted a new island. He wanted it so new, in fact, that
he could watch it grow to completion.

C.aptain Burnell could well afford to humor his sup-
posedly eccentric passenger, for Wimble had paid him
generously, and at last, more through accident than
anything else, he raised a perfect atoll, which, he swore
truthfully, was not on the charts.

“Now,” said Wimble, “put me ashore with my freight
and provisions. Build me a shack and a lean-to with a
canvas awning, and go away for a year. You’ll find
instructions waiting for you at the bank, and an expense
allowance which will be turned over to you eleven months
from date, as per this written order. Remember, Pm
counting on you to come back for me. There may be
a bonus in it for you.”

Grasping as Burnell was, he had the decency to warn
the little man of the prospects, nay, the certainty, of
hardships on that treeless island. Tidal waves might
sweep it, he declared, or earthquakes engulf it. The sun
was hot, the rains infrequent though heavy, in that
corner of the world, making the problem of drinking
water uncertain.

To all of which Wimble turned a listening ear and
paraphrasing an ancient nursery ballad murmured,

“But when it is wet, it is very, very wet;

And when it is dry, it is torrid.”

After which Burnell sailed away, shaking his head in
grudging admiration of the other’s magnificent fool-
hardiness.

But Wimble was nobody’s fool. Before tbe departure
of the schooner, the Kanakas had unwrapped the burlap
sacking from three Traveler’s Palms which formed part
of the schooner’s deck cargo, and set them up next the
shack. The roots were laid in trenches gouged out of the
coral, and tamped with fresh earth, also brought along

for the purpose. Then a windbreak barrier of coral
fragments was erected to the weather side of shack and
trees, which stood on the rim of the atoll at its widest
point. At high tide Wimble would be twenty feet above
water; at low, thirty-two feet.

There was a raft, too, in the lagoon, where Wimble
had ordered it placed, and a fox terrier for companion-
ship.

The pile of provisions lay secure under a great
tarpaulin, and Wimble had tackle and a rifle for aug-
menting this stuff with sea food and possible water fowl
that might come his way.

N OW that he had achieved his destination, he lay
inert for a day, planning the layout of his appa-
ratus, writing out a schedule of daily activities, appor-
tioning his food supplies and even his reading matter, so
that he need not worry about running out of either
during his stay. He had four huge hogsheads of fresh
water for slacking his thirst and for the radiator of his
gas engine with which he expected occasionally to charge
the bank of storage batteries he had brought along.
There was also a supply of distilled water for the bat-
teries themselves. By limiting himself to the minimum
of drinking water, and quenching his thirst on canned
tomatoes, he’d be enabled to give the transplanted palms
a couple of months’ rest in their new environment liefore
tapping them for water, should he need it. He had
plenty of naphtha for the engine.

On the next day following, he set to work opening
the crates and neatly piling the wood behind the shack so
that he might build a small addition to house his glass
tanks and bulkier apparatus, including batteries and en-
gine. The microscope and chemical supplies he kept
carefully covered up in the shack.

Now and again he spoke to “Skipper,” the terrier, who
had quickly attached himself to his master, and throwing
a short piece of wood into the lagoon, would command
the dog to retrieve it. He always stood with rifle ready
for any triangular fin that might cleave the waters in
pursuit of the dog. But there were no sharks in the
lagoon, although occasionally they were visible on the sea
side.

Wimble was elated at the discovery, and pegged down
a rope ladder to enable him to enter or leave the lagoon
waters with facility. There were just twenty rungs
above water at high tide, and thirty-two exposed at low
tide. Being a methodical man, he noted this detail.
He supposed the island could not be as desirable for his
purpose as one just awash; certainly there could be no
crustacean deposits to add to its height above sea level.
Below the water line, however, he found large masses
of living coral.

It would be interesting, but it is scarcely necessary, to
detail Wimble’s activities in settling to work during the
ensuing weeks. A month of hardy existence metamor-
phosed him into a brown merman, who spent as much
time under water as above it, by means of a simple tube
and float arrangement which enabled him to remain sub-
merged for an hour at a time. He simply placed the
bifurcated end of the rubber tubing in his nostrils and
breathed out through his mouth. Watertight glasses
saved his eyes from brine irritation; and at first, until
he became hardened, he greased his body with lard to
minimize the skin-bloating action of the water.

Soon he had a choice collection of small marine
specimens in the tanks behind his shack, and had affixed

THE CORAL EXPERIMENT

525

waterproofed with painted tarpaulin.
The protected waters of the lagoon re-
mained undisturbed. Captain Burnell
had worked out a tide table for that
latitude and longitude, and Wimble,
checking it up, found it fairly ac-
curate.

'Also he discovered that sharks had come into the lagoon. Skipper had
played at retrieving once too often . . . Wimble’s rifle, long since laid
aside in his romps zvith the dog, spat too late.

other tank? to the inner wall of the lagoon beneath the
.surface. This wall was sheer ; the seaward side shelving
for a short distance.

Naturally Wimble had devoured all the available
knowledge of the different specimens of coral to be
found in that part of the world, and fascinating as he
found the various types, he was forced to confine him-
self to a limited group of the stony variety. It saved
him much research work to know the habits of the coral
polyp, and it was his intention to control coral growth,
speeding it up under adverse and difficult conditions. He
knew that sometimes its deposition occurred at the rate
of one, two or three inches a year. Hence his storage
batteries, his electrical apparatus for applying a stimulus ;
hence the chemicals for creating artificial hindrances for
the polyps to overcome.

Atmospheric disturbances of minor intensity occurred
to vary the sameness of the days. Occasional storms
flung spray high over the island; but the shack was

E early isolated and stained sev-
eral polyps in the tanks beneath
the lagoon waters, bnd these had af-
fixed themselves to bits of shell, and
begun to proliferate. Soon the stained
pink dot that formed the nucleus of
the colony would be calcified and cov-
ered over with lighter masses of its
own kind, until a pea-shaped growth
resulted, white on the outside. On ex-
posing this to the air to dry and
harden it sufficiently. Wimble would
crack it open, and check the time re-
quired for formation of the mass.
With infinite patience and endless ex-
perimentation with the specimens in
the tanks behind the shack, he suc-
ceeded in obtaining a beautifully con-
centric forced growth of the my-
cedenae in a few hours.

Into the lagoon countless times ; out
again. Wimble automatically counted
his hand and foot holds, much as a
man who, unconsciously listening to
a clock strike, will suddenly chime in
with his guess and find his guess cor-
rect. So Wimble, thoughtlessly climb-
ing up the ladder at high tide, and
starting from the surface, would end
by saying, “Nineteen, twenty, cor-
rect.”

One day he caught himself saying,
“Eighteen, nineteen, correct.”

But it wasn’t correct, and it stuck
in Wimble’s subconsciousness, rattled
around inside, and finally gained un-
divided attention for itself.

Either the tide was unusually high,
or — ^and Wimble was slightly dis-
turbed at the thought — the island was
steadily sinking. One foot in a month and a half! It
began to look quite serious.

After that Wimble measured carefully, and found a
slow and progressive sinking at a regular rate of speed.
It didn’t worry him particularly, as he felt there would
be a safe margin left by the time Burnell should re-
turn for him.

He merely made minor changes in his plans, shifting
his underwater tanks, and lengthening his work hours,
and went right on with his experiments. Next, hav-
ing forced the growth of coral polyps, and bred them
under adverse and hindering conditions. Wimble brought
forth a jar of extracted teeth carefully preserved in
normal salt solution, and began to fill cavities with
coral!

As the days, weeks, months fled by, he made such
progress, that under proper conditions of temperature,
salt water supply, and electric stimulus, he could fill
a fairly large cavity in an extracted tooth in less than

526

AMAZING STORIES

an hour. It was curious to watch the decay crumble
under the attacks of the voracious polyps, to watch them
gain attachment to a sound part, multiply, die, and leave
their stony framework mounting higher and higher until
the tooth had regained its normal contour. Then the
process would he stopped by removal of the favorable
stimulus, and by desiccation, and a little gentle polish-
ing would be all the work necessary to complete the
fdling.

All this without drilling! Ah, that drilling! How
often Wimble dreamt himself back in his office, draw-
ing on his nervous energy in order to encourage some
patient to put up with it.

Here he had almost perfected a process that would
nullify the main terror of the dental office. And after
all, there was nothing so very revolutionary in the idea.

Physicians had used live leeches in certain conditions
from time immemorial. Yeast, a living plant, was used
medicinally. Phagocytes had been set to work fighting
germs in contagious diseases. Pearls themselves could
be created artificially by irritating certain species of
oyster.

N OW Wimble had reached the stage where the idea
was feasible, at least under laboratory conditions.
He even went so far as to match the various yellows,
and grays, found as the principal hues of the teeth.
This he did by means of innocuous stains in the brine
medium.

He had succeeded far beyond his expectations, and
begun to look forward to returning to civilization, where,
with refinements of apparatus, and under ideal clinical
conditions, he felt prepared to undertake the conclud-
ing step in perfecting the process, when the island
misbehaved.

It happened at night: a series of slight tremors start-
ling him from sleep. There was a peculiar grating
noise, as of friable substances rubbing together, and a
small tidal wave followed, coming almost to the level
of the shack floor.

Daylight found Wimble eagerly scanning the rim of
the atoll. He saw at once there was a break in the
periphery.

He waited until extreme low tide, and measuring
again at the following flood, found that the subterranean
disturbance had also caused the annular island to sink
two feet overnight.

This was a serious discovery for Wimble. The regu-
lar, slow descent into the sea had not alarmed him, be-
cause he figured sufficient leeway to escape before the
total submergence of the island; but the seismic dis-
turbance might be repeated with even more disastrous
consequences.

Also he discovered that sharks had come into the
lagoon, to his grief. Skipper had played at retrieving
once too often. There had been a thrashing and flurry
in the water, and a spreading crimson cloud to mark the
site of the struggle.

Wimble’s rifle, long since laid aside in his romps
with the dog, spat too late.

Wimble now passed his time carefully tabulating the
fruits of his research, binding his notes in oilskin wrap-
pings, and sealing them into a large, glass jar for preser-
vation.

He watched the descent of the island intently, as the
end of his voluntary exile drew nearer, and two further
disturbances had greatly diminished the margin of safety.

Occasional high waves swept the shack, inundating the
floor, and ruining part of the apparatus; but Wimble
was unmoved by its destruction. He had accomplished
practically all that he had set out to do, and the rest
would be watching for Burnell’s return.

The schooner was due any day now. Wimble had
broken down the lean-to at the rear of the shack, and
stacked the kindlings in a pile which he could instantly
convert to a beacon, should it become necessary. In all
the months of his stay, he had spent little time looking
seaward for signs of sail or smoke ; but now he did.

An afternoon one week after Burnell was due. Wimble
lay sleeping before his shack. The sailcloth awning
stretched overhead kept the direct glare of the tropic
sun off the sleeping man. Late in the day the flaming
orb plunged .swiftly to extinction in the .sea, at the rim
of the world beyond the horizon. Its slanting rays,
still potent, stole under the edge of the shelter, and across
the face of the sleeper.

He stirred, and slowly sat up; but for a space of
many seconds he kept his eyes closed tightly, apparently
reluctant to relinquish his hold on a friendly dream
world for one more tangible and perilous.

He rose heavily to his feet, stretching and yawning,
and went about preparing his simple meal. After, and
just before dusk, he peered seaward again, frowned,
shrugged his shoulders, and snapped his fingers in vex-
ation. For the short twilight period, he sat immobile,
in front of the shack.

Suddenly he sjjrang to his feet and stood intent on a
pinpoint of light far down on the horizon. In a moment
he rushed to the beacon, and a match flared against the
waterproof match safe cupped carefully between his
hands.

The tiny flame bit into the debris, and the night breeze,
stirring gently, fanned the fire into a roaring, crackling
blaze that dis])elled the gloom, and cast ruddy, inter-
mittent jets of light on the eager face of the watcher.
In the illumined area, he danced, leaped, and gesticulated
wildly.

He ripped down the canvas awning, and fastened it
to his heavy fishing rod. Then, keeping between the
fire and his objective, and standing in bold relief against
the flames, he began waving his pennant with long, regu-
lar strokes.

Minute succeeded lagging minute. The hours fled away.
The beacon and every available bit of fuel that Wimble
could find in the dark had been utterly consumed. Pearly
dawn waxed.

Wimble, who had kept vigil throughout the night,
now searched the horizon with red-rimmed, fearful eyes,
seeking to penetrate the thinning vapors that come with
the light.

The far line was unbroken.

Slowly, and with contorted face. Wimble sank to his
knees, his shoulders bowed down as if with a great
weight.

But Wimble was made of resilient stuff, and had too
much fortitude to devote much time to self-pity. He
set to work to make himself as secure as possible.

He hauled in on the raft, and got one of the empty
hogsheads aboard, filling it laboriously, a bucket at a
time, from his small reserve, behind the shack, and the
few drippings yielded by the oft-pierced stalks of the
Traveler’s Palms. He secured the scant remainder of
his tinned stuff, which, by dint of unconscious sparing,
he had made to last beyond the allotted time.

THE CORAL EXPERIMENT

527

Me tethered the raft by a very long cable to the high-
est point he could find, for he knew the folly of pushing
off to the open sea. Though the island should disap-
pear, the raft would float, and mark its exact location,
the bearings of which were in Burnell’s possession.

It was fortunate for Wimble that he took these pre-
cautions, for three days later, after further rumblings
and heavings, the atoll was completely awash.

Wimble, well fixed aboard his raft, now began his
long vigil for the long overdue schooner. His valuable
data were secured in the watertight jar, his food and
water stood to hand, and he had rope enough to pay out
to the submerged island below him, so long as breath
persisted in his body. In his possession was this boon
to humanity, and Wimble fiercely determined to hold
out to the utmost.

D octor wimble found himself in this desper-
ate plight just a month ago. If he is possessed of
any tele])athic powers, he may now be aware of the fact
that Burnell will never return for him.

After depositing Wimble on the atoll, the schooner
touching briefly at Maui, sailed off into the limbo of
lost ships. “Squareface” Burnell himself was found dead
with a knife in his back in a drifting ship’s boat, with
an expiring and unconscious Kanaka who tightly clutched
an empty water keg.

As the dead man was the only one who possessed the
clue to the atoll's exact location, not even the bank people

in Papeete who opened the letter left by Wimble —
following instructions when Burnell failed to show
tq) — have any idea of the unfortunate man’s where-
abouts.

Word has gone out to the numerous craft that sail those
waters — pearlers, traders, copra gatherers — to be on the
lookout for Wimble; but so far, he has not sighted one
of them.

Daily, as he grows weaker, he pays out a few inches,
perhaps a foot, of rope, to the submerged island, revil-
ing the name of Burnell, and wondering if he ought to
trust the jar with its precious secret to the mysterious
whims of the ocean currents. He fears it may be cast
up on some uninhabited island, or fall into the hands of
ignorant savages who inhabit the neighboring groups;
and so he keeps it with him.

Shark fins cleave the waters about the raft ; but
Wimble has no more bullets with which to break their
backs ; although he still holds on to one, which he fingers
avidly, now and then. There was once a light, he re-
members. It may come back this way.

But for the fact that Burnell knew the atoll’s loca-
tion, Wimble would cut loose and take his chances of
being wafted in waters more frequently ploughed by
inter-island traffic.

We can do no more than hope that fortune will yet
favor the intrepid little scientist, although it looks very
much as if people for untold generations will have to go
on complaining, “Oh ! That drill ! That awful drill !’’

Wimble, who had kept vigil
throughout the night, now searched
the horizon with red-rimmed eyes,
seeking to penetrate the thinning
vapors that come with the light.

<" --

The End

The White

P erhaps U is because the human mechanism is not
new that we treat it with such a vast amount of indif-
ference. Any layman would evince some interest in the
mechanism and workings of a new machine brought before
his attention. But of the organs of our body, because they
are so much a part of us, we know nothing, except in time
od trouble, when our attention is forced to specific parts.
Yet the human machine is the most marvelous machine

EUCON presented a queer picture as he
clung to a projection of the wall in the
cavity where he awoke, and cast a bewildered
and somewhat frightened look at the scene
around him.

In shape he seemed rather like a globe, but as an eddy
in the current, that swirled through and around his re-
treat, swung against him, he belied this impression by
flattening into a disc, holding fast to his perch with one
clawlike tentacle. A moment later he writhed into an
elongated cylindrical shape, although still with the ten-
tacle firmly fast to his anchorage. In another moment,
and without losing his grip, he became a coma-like affair
and then once more like a ball. Closer inspection with
these changes in mind might have shown that he under-
went his metamorphosis at will, having evidently instead
of arms and legs and head and body a plastic sort of
corpus or body that might assume any shape, that might
grow a leg or arm or mouth or head as he desired, and
just as easily return to his to*o proper when it suited him.

Of skeleton he had none in the proper sense, although
he did have a sponge-like network or reticulum of
slightly harder matter than the rest of him, that per-
vaded his whole substance and served the same purpose.

Scattered at certain points in this framework were
numbers of dully shining neutral colored specks of matter
that resembled a number of dark pearls in a network
of lace. They were each, however, carefully disposed
at a crossing of two strands of the reticulum or net,
something like joints in a wire screen.

Of brain he had some, a great deal in fact compared
to the size of his body, but it was in a queer place, none
other than in the center of his body. It was darker and
heavier than the rest of his substance and seemed most
often shaped like a three-legged dumb-bell, although as
his body changed shape, the brain changed, becoming
now short and thick and then elongated, until the central
connecting parts were so threadlike that they seemed to
be absent.

He had a skin to be sure, or at least a denser membrane
that was in the proper place for skin and seemed to
serve the purpose. But it was more adaptable than most
skin because it could not only feel and move, but it could
see, or serve the same function for Leucon; it could be-
come a claw or mouth, an arm or a leg, at any point and
at any time. It had no definite color as most skin has ;
it was neither white nor drab nor yet wholly transparent,
but rather without any color whatever. This latter prop-
erty it shared with all of him, except for the granules in
his skeleton and for the dark mass that was his brain.

In size Leucon was large compared to the other ani-
mate beings he saw, all of eleven or twelve microns in

ever created. It was less than three centuries ago that
Harvey discovered that the blood circulates through our
veins and arteries. Our new author, without a doubt,
knows his subject, and what is just as important, he can
transmit his knowledge in a most absorbing manner. We
are sure you will be glad, with us, to add Dr. Dressler’s
name to our growing list of worth while contributors. Wa
shall be glad to hear from him soon again.

diameter when he was at rest. True, when he stretched
himself to his fullest extent he was much longer, but
that was at the expense of his girth. What he weighed
I do not know, but thirty thousand like him could be in a
cubic millimeter of space and still leave ample room for
five millions more slightly smaller creatures without un-
due crowding.

After swinging from his mooring post for a while,
Leucon lost some of his bewilderment and since he was
a sentient being with not a little curiosity in his make-up,
he commenced to look about and appraise his sur-
roundings.

H e found that he was in a sort of cylindrical grotto
with regular walls, made up apparently of blocks
laid together with a smoothly shining cement between
them. The grotto was not large, hardly big enough to
contain more than two or three like him. At one end it
was closed, the walls ending in a blank surface ; the other
end was open and in and out this opening surged the
tides of fluid that bathed him and everything within his
range of vision. They came and went in regular rhythm,
yet at no time was the space empty; on closer inspection
he saw that the walls of his room seemed to yield with
each influx and contract with each outgo, yet all so quietly
that at first he failed to notice it.

The fluid, he saw, was not the clear substance that it
seemed at first glance, but contained numberless tiny
fragments that looked like debris of some sort, but that
upon second thought he decided to be something differ-
ent. One fragment swung against the portion of his
body away from the wall and smelled so inviting that
he promptly ate it. He did this in a peculiar way, first
seizing it in an outflung tentacle and then rolling around
it. The skin next the fragment opened and closed and
the fragment was inside of him. Presently he began to
digest it and enjoyed it so much that he looked about
for more. Several came close enough to be taken the
same way and then one particularly large and tempting
piece eluded him until he cast loose from his anchorage
and literally ran it down.

After he had finished his meal, he found that he was
close to the entrance of his cave and as the next outrush
of tide came nearly swung out with it. He was close to
one of the walls and he caught hold and clung while he
reconnpitered the territory beyond. He found that by
lengthening his anchoring pseudopod or foot-like tentacle
and stretching a bit, he could remain in his quiet nook
and at the same time observe the scene that the entrance
looked upon.

He seemed to be facing a shining tube, many times
larger than his own grotto, cylindrical and interminably

S2S

The White

Army

By Dr. Daniel Dressier

Illustrated by Hugh McKay

EUCON presented a queer picture as he
clung to a projection of the wall in the
cavity where he awoke, and cast a bewildered
and somewhat frightened look at the scene
around him.

In size Leucon was large compared to the other ani-
mate beings he saw, all of eleven or twelve microns in

He seemed to be facing a shining tube, many times
larger than his own grotto, cylindrical and interminably

Close beside him, in the mouth of the cave, he beheld a replica of himself, identical in appearance save
that the newcomer was slightly larger and had a load of granules through his substance.

S2S

S29

Ps.RMY

By Dr. Daniel Dressier

Illustrated by Hugh McKay

Close beside him, in the mouth of the cave, he beheld a replica of himself, identical in appearance save
that the newcomer was slightly larger and had a load of granules through his substance.

529

530

AMAZING STORIES

long. Its walls were not unlike the ones he had already
seen, save that the blocks were longer and narrower and
less regular in shape and were each very thin; so thin
that he could see through them to other supporting struc-
tures more firm and white and 16 ss closely applied to
each other. He saw where the tidal waves came from.
The tube was filled with the same rushing fluid and it
swelled and .shrank with each pulsation in the current.
He realized that the place was lighted, walls, fluids,
everything was bathed in a dull greenish glow, that
was reflected from the shining walls and dispersed in
the current.

As he swung to his anchorage and looked at all the
new and strange things, his attention was caught by an
object in the fluid, larger and more solid than his food
particles. It drifted toward him and he drew back with
a start of alarm to see a round object, disc shaped with
biconcave sides, rolling and tumbling in the current di-
rectly toward him. He drew back and watched it for a
moment when he saw with a breath of relief that it was
drifting past without any apparent designs upon either
himself or his refuge.

Now that he had seen it, he found that there were
many of them, and he saw, too, that they gave much of
the greenish light he had observed. They drifted along
like little living torches, diffusing a soft glow about them.

Nor were they the only freight upon the current.
Along the opposite wall was a whole series of porpoise-
like objects, some of them as large as he was, great
round pudgy balls, white on the outside with heavy dark
centers occupying nearly their whole form. In, between
and around the shapes he had seen first, were multi-
tudes of tiny discs dodging and darting about as if in a
great hurry, though never getting much beyond the usual
speed of the current. They looked like smaller editions
of the first, save that they were flat-sided instead of
hollow and were without lights.

While he hung to his anchorage wondering what might
appear next, he was startled to find something attached to
the same point and to hear a hearty voice in his ear.

“Hello, Leucocyte, how are tricks?”

He drew up in some trepidation and turned to observe
the source of the voice.

C LOSE beside him, in the mouth of the cave, he
beheld a replica of himself, identical in appearance
save that the newcomer was slightly larger and rather
scarred of skin and had, instead of a sprinkling of
granules through his substance, a litertd load of them;
every joint in his framework was starred with one. He
grasped Leucon’s anchorage with a tentacle just like
his own and swung in the current with the same easy
motion. Toward Leucon he presented a facet-like pro-
tuberance that very evidently was for the moment serving
as an eye, and which glimmered and twinkled very much
as a real eye might have done. Leucon’s first impulse
was to flee from this new being who seemed interested in
him, but a second look disclosed no symptoms of ag-
gressiveness, so he held his position and replied :

“Why do you call me Leucocyte ? My name is LeucOH.
I found myself in this cave and I’ve had something to
eat, but everything is new and strange and I don’t know
exactly what to do. There are a lot of queer monsters
outside and they might be dangerous.”

The newcomer laughed indulgently.

“I see you are a new one, just born and with every-
thing to learn. Well, my name is Poli ; we are both

Leucocytes, Polymorphonuclear Neutrophiles if you want
our family name, although we usually answer to ‘Leu-
cocyte’ or just ‘White.’ Of course, they include us with
all the other Leucocytes when they say that, but maybe
it is more of a compliment than anything else, since
Metchnikoff really paid more attention to us than to any
of the others. I won’t say that some of them, the
Eosinophiles for example, are not pretty good chaps.
They can fight protozoan infections better than we can.”

In the face of so much that was new and with so
much evident knowledge from one that he instinctively
judged a friend, Leucon felt more bewildered than ever,
but he found courage to ask a question or two.

“But what do you mean by ‘Metchnikoff’ and ‘Eosino-
philes’ and why should we fight anyone? I really don’t
feel like it. It’s quiet here and I don’t see anything to
fight.”

Poli laughed again and then gave vent to a low whistle
of amusement.

“Well, you are green, aren’t you? You don’t even
know that Metchnikoff is the fellow who gave the world
the first insight into our importance with his theory of
Phagocytosis. Eosinophiles, large and small lymphocytes,
and transitional cells, are our first cousins and they help
us fight infections and repair damage and keep the place
policed up.

“You ought to be proud to belong to the polymorphs.
We are the standing army, the ones who go everywhere
and do what is to be done, fighting, repair work, scaveng-
ing, and helping in digestion, although they usually have
temporary help for that. Why, we are the only cells in
the body who have passports that admit us anywhere.

“This little place is only your nursery; it’s a space
in the white bone marrow where you and I and a lot of
our brothers were born. Further on in the bone is red
marrow where the erythrocytes, those flat disc-shaped
helpless fellows, develop. The rivulet that you have
been eyeing with so much trepidation is nothing but a vein
that carries out the blood coming in by the nutrient ar-
teries. This liquid is plasma; out there where the cells
are, it is blood. Simple, isn’t it?

“But then I know how it is when you are new ; every-
thing is strange and a little terrifying. When you’ve
been around as much as I have (this last with some
pride), you’ll know some things.

“Don’t ever forget that you are a Polymorph and that
you are the equal of anyone in a fair fight. There are
not so many of us, only about three thousand to the cubic
millimeter, while there are almost as many other leuco-
cytes and about five million reds, but we are the army
and if we call out the reserves, we can build our forces
up to thirty and even fifty thousand.”

Somewhat heartened by this friendly explanation,
Leucon quite welcomed Poll’s next words, which were an
invitation to make a trip “around” with him.

“There is nothing much doing right now, I might as
well show you the ropes.” Poli remarked. “You won’t
know what to do if you meet trouble, so we may as well
trail along together. It’s tough to travel alone. I used
to stick with a chap called Neuto, but we got separated
and I’ve never seen him since.”

W HILE he spoke, Poli was casting loose from his
anchorage and rolling into a ball. Leucon imitated
him and together they rolled to the opening of the cave
where Poli cast boldly into the current. Leucon felt for
a moment some of his old timidity, but rather than be

THE WHITE ARMY

531

left alone he, too, rolled over and over and into the
stream and presently was drifting by Poli’s side.

On every hand he saw the disc-shaped lantern bearers
that he now knew as red cells, rolling and tumbling along
in a manner quite helpless and yet not without a certain
dignity. Between, and around them, were their miniature
fellows, who, he now saw, were quite pale in color;
indeed, they were little more than dense places in the
fluid. As he watched one, it seemed to melt and then
become semi-solid again, while another beside him
vanished and did not return.

Observing his interest in them, Poli remarked :

“Those little chaps are blood platelets. They are
always on the verge of going into solution and sometimes
they do. They are always present in blood and they
furnish an indispensable component of fibrin, which is the
essential part of a blood clot.

“There are a lot of reds here. Their proper name is
‘erythrocyte,’ ‘erythro’ meaning red and ‘cyte’ for cell.
They are the coloring matter of the blood and they carry
oxygen and most of the carbon dioxide, although some
of it travels in solution in the plasma in the form of
soluble carbonates. The reds are nice chaps but no good
as fighters. They die like sheep in the presence of in-
vaders. And, too, they are very short lived. Why, they
die naturally in seven days while we go on many times
that long, if we don’t pass out in a scrap.

“But when there is trouble, we suffer. In the last
fight with organisms from the Outside, we lost quite a
few millions of the regulars, besides a bunch of emer-
gency troops. I came on the scene late, else I would
probably have gotten mine. Most of the bunch stayed
and became food for connective tissue cells, but I was
young and strong and decided to pull out.”

I-eucon had been lending all his attention during this
discourse and he found so much to think about, that he
.suggested that they anchor awhile. Poli agreed, and
noting a ledge in what seemed a slight recess in the
tunnels, they thrust out pseudopods and attached them-
selves to it.

There was just enough of a recess to their wall to
take them out of the rush of the current and only an
eddy swung them gently to and fro, throwing a few of
the blood platelets and smaller fry in the stream against
them while the red cells and larger objects swept past
beyond. Across the channel the wall swelled in a similar
way and above and below them the same.

“This is just a dilatation in the vein,” Poli remarked.
“They occur frequently, why I don’t know, except that
they are a good place to loaf and watch the passing
stream. But you must never gang up here with a bunch
of Leucocytes, one or two is all right, but more would
start an obstruction.”

“What did you mean by ‘Organisms’ and ‘The Out-
side?’” Leucon asked. Poli shifted his grip a little on
the anchorage and settled more comfortably, then
answered :

“You know we are only a couple of corpuscles, even
if we do belong to what we consider about the most im-
portant group of them; we and all this fluid, the reds,
other whites, and platelets are components of the blood.
These walls beyond us make up a vein ; beyond it are
muscle and connective tissue and bone and nerve and
skin ; in short, an enormous amount of other cells that
make up a body. This body is called a man and he
lives and moves in a world that is quite beyond our con-
ception. What he does there I do not know, but I

suppose that just as we have our sphere and function, so
does he have his.

“By ‘Outside’ I mean the part beyond the skin and in
the alimentary tract where we sometimes help absorb the
food that we, as well as the man, depend upon for our
existence. I’ve heard that the man considers his alimen-
tary tract to be within him, but, of course, it isn’t. It is
developed from ectoderm, just as the .skin is, and it’s
really outside of the body proper, even if it does seem
to be within. Food in it is still outside. We never go
outside except sometimes when there is an injury to
repair and then we rarely live to come back. When we
die Outside, I once heard a brain cell say that the man
calls our dead bodies pus. What he meant by that, 1
don’t know.

“The skin keeps the rest of the body pretty well pro-
tected; it is a very efficient armor. Sometimes it gets
broken and then we not only have to repair it, but we
have also to fight the organisms I .spoke of. They are
active little chaps of different shapes and sizes and they
are mostly of the vegetable world, only a few being of
the animal or protozoan sort. But one and all, if they
are pathogenic or disease producing, they have confound-
edly active jaws and teeth. They don’t bother when the
skin is intact, the skin cells are immune to most of them,
but if they once get through and start to multiply, they
are dangerous. We handle most of them, and when we
can’t the brain pushes up the body temperature and
though that’s uncomfortable for us, it usually fixes them.”

“How do you kill these organisms?” Leucon asked.
If I’m to do that sort of thing, I’d like to know how to
go about it.”

“In different ways,” Poli answered. “Usually we eat
them, simply envelope and digest them. But sometimes

At one end it was closed, the walls ending in a
blank surface; the other end was open and in and
out this opening surged the tides of fluid that
bathed him.

532

AMAZING STORIES

they employ toxins, tiny poisonous molecules that are
an awful nuisance, until someone learns to produce an
anti-body to neutralize them. We do a lot of that work,
although the rest of the body cells help, too. After we
know just how to prepare these anti-bodies it’s easier,
but before we do, it’s sometimes a hard scrap. You will
learn all that when the time comes, so don’t worry about
it until then.”

AS he finished speaking, Poli drew into a ball prepara-
■T A tory to casting off, and Leucon did likewise. Dur-
ing an interval between pulsations, they dropped into
the current and side by side drifted down the channel.
They had progressed a short distance when Leucon
perceived an opening in the side of their tunnel, and
through this another current rushed, mixing with their
own and taking them suddenly to a point where the vein
enlarged to nearly twice its former size. The same
current churned them along and the fluid kept much its
same characteristics, save that there seemed to be more
of the red cells and less of the white and the liquid
portion seemed slightly stale in odor.

“A branch from the muscle,” Poli said. “Few whites
go through there unless there is trouble, but muscle uses
a lot of oxygen and food and sends back a lot of waste.
We go in there usually only once in a while unless there
is trouble, but it needs plenty of reds to keep the
oxygen balance up.”

They progressed in the larger tunnel for a time, when
Leucon perceived that it was rapidly coming to an end.
It narrowed slightly, the speed of the current increased
and they debauched suddenly into an enormous vessel, its
walls so far apart that they could barely see them. There
was the same onward rush of the current but the pulsa-
tion was less evident ; they seemed to Leucon to be drift-
ing down a steadily flowing stream in a huge and dimly
lighted cavern.

From time to time he perceived the mouths of other
tunnels all emptying their contents into the main channel,
and each adding to the swarm of reds and whites and
platelets that he saw on every side. The openings were
not regular. Sometimes they were close together and
sometimes they passed for some distance without seeing
any. Each seemed to enter at an angle that discharged
its contents without affecting the current save to augment
it, and he saw that after each influx the channel increased
slightly in size so that the cavern became like the bed
of a river receiving its tributaries and rushing toward
the sea.

“This is the femoral vein,” Poli said. “Presently we
will reach the iliac and then the vena cava, the largest
vein in the body.”

And presently they did come to it, another slight nar-
rowing of the walls of their cavern, another thrust of
the current, and they were swimming along in a still
larger tunnel. This carried them for a time and then
emptied into one that seemed perfectly enormous. Above
them was the widely arching roof and only as the
current carried them toward one side or the other was
Leucon able to see the walls. He presently noticed that
tunnels entering seemed to be more numerous and that
they usually occurred in pairs. Soon, though, they
passed a number unpaired and in the exodus from these
he noticed a sweetish tinge and myriads of tiny glittering
crystals. He caught one and enveloped it and found it
most pleasant in taste.

Poli ranged beside him and he, too, caught and swal-

lowed some. “Sugar crystals, glycogen molecules from
the liver,” he said. “They are the principal food for
most cells and we eat them sometimes, although you will'
often have to depend upon debris from broken down
tissue when you are at work. Here in the blood stream
there is little of that to be found and a good meal is
always worth while.”

While he was eating, Leucon had paid little note to his
progress, but he soon became aware that their speed had
increased. He realized, too, for the first time, that there
was noise audible. Instead of flowing along quietly, the
current now swished and thudded against the walls ; the
former rhythmic pulsation had become a continuous
booming roar so that even the far flung walls of the
cavern reverberated to it.

S UDDENLY hesitant, frightened by the din, Leucon
would have made his way to the wall and anchored,
but when he attempted it, he found that he was helpless.
Pushed by the fluid, buffeted by the smaller cells, he
rolled hither and thither and all the time impelled onward
until even the pandemonium that had first frightened him
was lost in an all-pervading roar and a rushing to and
fro of the current that left him half senseless with terror.
He dimly realized that he was in a huge chamber whose
walls alternately contracted and expanded with a beat-
beat-beat unlike anything he had ever imagined. Below
him he saw a huge trapdoor with three leaves, that opened
and shut with each contraction and expansion of the
chamber. Even as he perceived them, he was rushed
toward them and with a surge of horror knew that willy-
nilly he must go with the current. Visions of his helpless
body caught and crushed between them flashed through
his mind and next moment he was hurled directly toward
them.

To his infinite relief, they opened in time and before
they closed he was through and in a second chamber
larger and noisier than the first. The same contraction
and expansion went on and he saw below him another
door exactly like the first. Caught in a wave, he had
little time to be frightened before he was impelled through
it and into the comparative quiet of another tunnel.

True, there was still noise and hurry, but the tunnel
looked not unlike the ones he had traversed with Poli,
and although the tide was much stronger and the pace
more rapid, he felt almost at ease. He gave a hurried
inspection of his body and, finding no damage, grew
more calm and for the first time since his advent into
the scene of furor bethought himself of his companion.
To his surprise, he found him still at his side and ap-
parently in no way perturbed by the doings of the last
few moments.

Hs grinned cheerfully at Leucon and said :

“Well, how did you like that? We just passed through
the heart and now we are in the pulmonary artery
leading to the lungs. Were you frightened ?”

Leucon admitted that he had been and Poli grinned
once more and continued : “You had a right to be. It’s
a trying experience the first time, but I didn’t want to
frighten you by telling you about it beforehand. You see,
despite all the noise it’s perfectly harmless ; all the blood
in the body goes through there once in seven minutes and
no one is ever hurt. Even if those terrible looking valves
did close on you, they’d do no damage ; they are covered
with endothelium just like the soft lining of these vessels.

"Now,” as they continued to drift with the current,
“ahead of us are the lungs. You won’t find much of

THE WHITE ARMY

533

interest in them as there is seldom any work, hut we are
started and may as well go on.”

A FEW moments only it seemed to Leucon before their
pathway divided, one part of the stream following
a vessel to the right and the other a smaller one to the
left. Still together, they drifted into the left-hand
stream and presently found it, too, dividing, then almost
immediately breaking up until they were in a tunnel so
small that they were forced to proceed single file. Just
ahead and behind them were numbers of red cells, but
no other whites were in sight. The passageway nar-
rowed still more and Leucon was forced to squeeze him-
self into almost a cylindrical shape to creep through.
Encouraged by Poll he did so, and soon found himself in
quarters so constricted that even the smaller reds were
hampered. He became conscious then of a roaring sound,
rhythmic and slow, barely one-third as rapid as the noise
he retnembered in the heart.

The current, too, had become less rapid and he had a
moment to observe things about him. He saw on one
side only the customary vessel wall, but on tlie other were
numberless tiny pockets into which the red cells were
eagerly crowding. The walls of these pockets were thin,
so thin that he could see right through them into what
seemed a vast dark space. As each red cell came against
this wall, it paused a moment and seemed to stick fast
with a portion of its body. As he watched one, it seemed
to swell and shrink like a fat man taking a deep breath.
Then he noticed that it was giving oif some sort of gas,
colorless, but evident in minute bubbles. As soon as it
had ceased to discharge gas, it began to imbibe another
load, seemingly right through the wall. This last turned
its body from the dark, almost purple red, that it had
been, to a brilliant crimson while its iridescent glow
brightened until it became a gleaming ball.

“The reds are getting rid of their carbon dioxide and
taking on oxygen,” Poli explained. “That’s their job, you
know. They pick up CO^ in the tissues and trade it
here for oxygen which they carry back. They get it
through the membrane cells there by a system of osmosis
and some vital characteristic of the cells, from the dark
space that you see and which is Air from Outside. See
how much fresher everything seems now that there is
plenty of oxygen around?”

And, indeed, Leucon felt as if he had imbibed some
invigorating draught.

After a moment they pressed onward through the ves-
sel, squeezing past the reds who were slowly moving
along the walls. The way became blocked and they
halted and looked ahead to see a number of reds and
one or two lymphocytes heaped together in a mass and
completely closing the passage. The walls of the vessel
were stretching, but the press became momentarily
greater and the jam more solid, until reds behind piling
up completely hemmed them in.

Poli exclaimed in anger, and stretching into a sinuous
ribbon, commenced wriggling through the mass. Leucon
followed him and presently was twisting over three fat
and ponderous red cells that were jammed helplessly
across the way. He would have gone on, but Poli
stopped, and thrusting a pseudopod under the first of the
three levered strenuously in an effort to dislodge him.
Leucon moved to his assistance and together they heaved
the red forth, breaking the jam and releasing the crowd
behind. Poli flattened against the wall and allowed them
to pass before he spoke.

“Those confounded reds can’t seem to get through
even a lung capillary without getting jammed. Y ou find
them doing it all the time and if you don’t get them out,
the first thing you know there is an intravascular clot
which means a lot of work closing it off and cleaning out
the debris. You want to watch for them, not only in the
lungs, but even more in the skin and soft tissues.”

As he talked, they drifted easily along with the current,
debouching presently into a larger stream. This in turn
gave way to one still larger and they were in a cavern
so immense that Leucon could not see its walls. Their
speed increased and he noted a return of the roaring
noise.

“Approaching the heart again,” Poli shouted, “only
this lime we are in the pulmonary vein and we shall go
through the left side and out the aorta.”

Presently they shot once more into the boiling current
and thunderous clatter that he remembered so well. But
this time it was less terrifying and Leucon was surprised
to find he was through and gliding down another large
tunnel that swelled and throbbed with each impulse of
the mighty engine behind, before he had fully realized
that he was started.

As they passed the last changing valve, Leucon became
aware of a curious odor in the fluid around them, an
indefinite something that seemed to awaken a response
in him, without a tangible appeal to his physical sense. It
seemed at first an odor, but changed in a moment to a
thrumming vibration to which his being was attuned — a
not unpleasant sensation and one which he felt ought to
convey something to him. A moment later Poli noticed
it and swinging over to him remarked : “Digestion is on,
did you notice the hormone in that last bunch of blood,
Leucon ?”

“I noticed something,” Leucon confessed. “I .seemed
tO' feel an urge to go some place and do something,
although it’s not at all clear. It seems now as though
we are headed in the right direction.”

Poli chuckled. “You will learn to recognize those
messages. They are hormones and one of the chief
ways, besides chemotaxis when we are in the neighbor-
hood of trouble, that we get orders. You see, every
organ in the body gives off a secretion that is peculiar
to it alone, and in case of injury or bacterial invasion, or
other trouble, not only does the blood supply to that
organ increase, but we recognize the changes that take
place in that secretion, and as many of our fellows as
can, hike toward it to help out. Now this that you
notice is only a signal that down in the small intestine
absorption is going on and there is some fat that we
must pick up. It happens regularly and you will have
to help sometimes. Other stuff is absorbed by the in-
testinal walls, but fat is picked up by leucocytes and
carried to the lymphatics. We will soon come to the
opening of the superior mesenteric artery. This that
we are in is the abdominal aorta ; we shall go and help.”

The opening that Poli spoke of .soon came in sight and
swinging with a surge of the fluid that flowed toward
it, Poli came to the edge and shot in with a brisk move-
ment of a pseudopod. Leucon, however, hesitated an
instant and an inopportune thrust of the current caught
him and sent him past before he had time to realize
what was happening. Terrified and somewhat angered,
he writhed in frantic spirals and lashed with outflung
tentacles to reach the opening, but the current was too
strong ; another beat or two and he was far past, gliding
down the tunnel toward he knew not what.

534

AMAZING STORIES

Left to His Own Resources

F or a time after he lost contact with Poli, Leucon
felt something of his old fear at each new expe-
rience that he faced, no longer buoyed up by the
other’s knowledge and ready council. After a time, how-
ever, he lost his timidity and began to enjoy life, finding
a definite pleasure in exploring the highways and byways
of his world and gradually assuming duties that he
hardly regarded as labor, but rather as things that it
seemed fitting and proper for him to do.

He learned to watch for breaks in the continuity of
the walls of his tunnel highways, and to tear away and
digest cells that broke down under the continuous batter-
ing of the current. Behind each one as it died and
came away would appear a new one, ready formed, to
take its place and help maintain each element of the
circulatory system in perfect repair. He learned to
squeeze through these liv-
ing walls so skilfully that
they were not even dis-
turbed, and to traverse
vast distances through
muscle and tendon and fat,
lending a hand here to
support a weak spot and
there breaking down and
tearing away tissue cells
that were diseased or worn
out.

Always after these ex-
cursions he made his way
back to the blood stream,
sometimes by way of the
lymphatic spaces, tunnels
in miniature not unlike the
blood vessels that he knew
so well, save that they had
no red cells and multitudes
of his cousin lymphocytes,
but usually by capillaries
that brought him directly
to the larger streams. At
first the thought of climb-
ing through apparently
solid tissue seemed difficult
after his easy and rapid progress with the blood current,
but he found that there was always space around even
the most densely packed cells, and where he could push
a pseudopod the rest of his mobile body could follow.
Ease came with practice and he soon performed his
“migrations,” as he termed them, with perfect facility.

These migrations, he came to realize, were not haphaz-
ard on his part. In addition to the impulses that came
to him from time to time by way of the hormones, he
was frequently aware of a definite urge to leave the vessel
in which he happened to be and travel through tissue
or blood to some point where his services were required.
At times this urge became a pull which he was powerless
to resist even had he wished to, a driving impulse that
carried him without volition or thought on his way.
When he encountered it, and it always seemed to reach
him when he was in a small vessel or capillary, he did
not stop to question. He thrust a tentacle between the
nearest two cells and dragged his body after. When he
reached the spot where work was to be done, the impulse
ceased, and when the work was finished he departed for

the nearest blood vessel. Long after, he came to identify
this property as the chemotaxis of which Poli had
spoken.

Not all of his time was spent in solid tissue or in the
blood stream; he wandered through apparently endless
channels and visited many organs. He entered the brain
and marveled at the great stupid looking Purkinje cells
that floated in their jelly-like medium passing along their
bodies and processes, a constant stream of vibrations,
that one of them told him were the thought impulses
of the man whose body they helped make up. He visited
the liver and saw the curious triad of artery, vein and
bile duct with the long strings of liver cells radiating
out like the spokes of a wheel, cells that took sugar from
the portal vein and made it over into glittering granules
of glycogen, and that caught and broke down aged for
damaged red cells to make pigment from their bodies.
He liked neither liver nor brain; the temperature to his
thermo-sensitive body was
too high — almost two de-
grees above the rest of his
world — and he avoided
them when possible.

AT times, when the sum-
mons found him un-
occupied, he answered the
call to aid in digestion,
floating down the tunnel
at whose mouth he had
lost Poli, and down it until
it branched into a multi-
tude of capillaries so small
he could barely move in
them. These tiny vessels
branched from their parent
stem like fingers from a
hand, and their walls, only
one cell in thickness, sep-
arated Leucon from a
dense black liquid mass
that moved by under the
urge of rhythmic impulses
from above. In this mass
were numberless frag-
ments that looked like food
to Leucon, but food so unlike what he had always known
that he could not be sure of it. Ever and anon, though,
there floated against his wall tiny droplets of what he
knew to be fat, and as one came near him, he thrust a
pseudopod through the wall and engulfed it, bringing it
through the wall and holding it in his body until he had
accumulated all he could carry. He then backed out of
his vessel and crawled to another conduit passing a tiny
stream, this one of clear lymph. Squeezing through the
walls of the conduit, he clung to one of them and un-
wrapped himself from around the fat droplets, depositing
them in the current where they floated away to join a
multitude of their fellows.

Leucon once swam away with this lymph stream and
found that it carried him through larger and larger
channels, much like the familiar blood vessels, until it
emptied into one of them a short distance from the heart.
Usually, though, he stayed at his work, catching and
herding the fat droplets.

As he became more familiar with his duties, he had
more time to look about and presently saw that besides

THE WHITE ARMY

535

the fat droplets and other material in the dark mass were
many animate beings. Literally hosts of tiny rodlike
objects, with a head made up mostly of teeth projecting
at one end, a smooth cylindrical body and a corkscrew-
like tail, were darting about in the fluid. They seized
masses of material larger than themselves and bit and
tore at them, breaking them up and scattering the pieces
about. Sometimes, when a particularly large chunk re-
sisted all their tearing efforts, two or three would cling
to it, crowding against it and apparently emitting some
melting fluid from their bodies, for the piece would
presently break and the tiny objects would triumphantly
swim away, each with a piece to be further dissected. He
noticed that the tiny organisms never attacked the fat
droplets, always bending their efforts upon the material
that he finally concluded, from its resemblance to struc-
ture that he knew, to be protein. He later found this to
be true. A casual conversation with another Leucocyte
disclosed the facts that the dark mass he saw was the
contents of the gastro-intestinal tract, the fat droplets
that he helped secure, the supply of fat for the body’s
use ; the material that the organisms struggled with were
pieces of protein that had escaped digestion above and
were being broken down by the tiny germs that were
themselves the mutual parasite Bacillus Coli.

Later, when helping to absorb fat had become a regular
habit, Leucon dropped into something of a routine. He
drifted with the blood stream and did what work he
saw ; at intervals he repaired to the intestinal wall ; he
ate when the mood took him and food was at hand ;
sometimes he slept, or at least, rested in some quiet nook
for a time.

He talked with other Polymorphs occasionally, for he
was not an ungregarious creature, and even entered into
conversation with other cells. He swapped news and
views with the flat membrane cells that lined the vessels
and that he called endothelium, with the lymphocytes and
red-starred eosinophiles in the blood and lymph streams
and with ti,ssue cells of all sorts. He saw more erythro-
cytes than perhaps any other variety, but he rather looked
down upon them as carriers of wood and drawers of
water and seldom condescended to talk to them.

URING this period of gain in age and experience he
changed somewhat in physical appearance. The
granules in his body developed in number and in regu-
larity of distribution until every joint in his reticulum
was dotted with them. His nuclear structure became
denser and more fixed in shape until it kept quite con-
sistently the shape of three dumb-bells jointed at the
center by a cord-like bridge. His skin became slightly
thicker and more adaptable to its varying function, grow-
ing an eye or a mouth or a tentacle into which his whole
body might flow with perfect ease.

And since outward changes in all living beings are not
without their inward concomitants, Leucon developed
mentally, or at least, in that primal consciousness that
was his mind. His recollections of Poli were hazy, yet
not wholly gone. He remembered other things, his way
through certain tortuous passages and the way to per-
form certain work .so that he definitely had a memory.
He thought, too; that is, he remembered things from
his past and applied their lessons to his present life and
from the sum total deduced rules for his future hehavior.
By far the greater portion of his intellectual armamen-
tarium, though, lay in a store of subconscious impulses,
from which he drew when in doubt, and to which he

added without conscious effort the significance of his
daily contacts. He remembered at times Poli’s words
about fighting and he wondered if he would ever meet
a hostile bacterium and how he would act if he did. But
his subconscious promptings came only as needed and he
could not draw the answer to a .speculation from them.

He heard in his travels and contacts with other Leu-
cocytes many names, most of them unintelligible, toxins
and cytolysis, antibody and phagocytosis. He heard old
Polymorphs discourse wisely on toxin molecules and cell
receptors and on the best and quickest way to neutralize
toxins and protect body cells. At fir.st he paid little
attention to the gossip, relying upon his conviction of
instinctive knowledge, but later he came to take an inter-
est and even to inquire a bit. He gleaned a few facts
and from them and from his subliminal understanding,
formulated a conception of what he might encounter
when he faced a bacterial invasion.

B acteria, he learned, were of many varieties, some
pathogenic, that is, able to damage the body, and
some harmless. They gained entrance to the body
through various channels, through nose and lungs and
gastro-intestinal tract and other openings and tbrough
breaks in the body’s armor, the skin. They were usually
taken care of at their point of entry by local measures,
only when the resistance of the local part was lowered
by poor blood supply or by systematic disease, did they
manage to make a stand and multiply. Their weapons
of offense were toxins, molecules like tiny darts or
arrows that engaged the food-taking portions of the
body cells and paralyzed them ; the property they pos-
sessed of dissolving and devouring body cells, cytolysis,
and in their almo.st phenomenal fecundity. The body’s
defense mechanism lay in the phagocytic action of the
leucocytes and to a limited extent of all cells, on the
ability of the blood plasma or cells to produce anti-
toxin or antibodies to neutralize the toxins, the ability
of the body to increase its temperature and so speed
the rate of increase of bacteria that their virulence de-
clined; and lastly, when all other measures failed, of
walling off the infected part and so keeping the infec-
tion from the body as a whole.

Much of this information Leucon picked up during a
resting period when he happened to choose a nook close
to a couple of veteran Polymorphs whom he had ob-
served before, usually together and usually, it must be
confessed, doing more talking than work. Perhaps,
he reasoned, they had done enough fighting in the past
to warrant a little disregard for ordinary work. Or
perhaps in the scheme of things, since they were ob-
viously “educated corpuscles,’’ they were not expected
to do anything save fight. He envied them whole-
heartedly and hoped that he, too, might some day be-
come distinguished and wise.

At about this time he b^ecame aware of a vague urge
for companionship and remembered with r^ret his part-
ing with the friendly Poli. He made some friends among
his own kind but never found anyone in whom he
sensed the kindly regard of Poli, and he spent much
time in scrutinizing the ones he met in the hope of see-
ing him, but never with success.

After a number of periods of digestion, by which, since
it was a regular process, he had come to mark his days,
he felt the longing in a more acute form. He wandered
around with the blood stream, coasting as far as an
artery would take him, only to squeeze through a capil-

536

AMAZING STORIES

lary and tissue into a vein and back to make the circuit
over again. He made the trip a number of times and
finally became conscious of something more in his
turbulence than an urge to find an old friend. He re-
alized that not only was he uneasy but that every Leuco-
cyte he saw was scurrying along in an unwontedly hur-
ried manner, while the blood stream, instead of its cus-
tomary beat-beat-beat, had quickened, until it moved a
half faster than before.

He was ])assing through the aorta, when he noticed
the quickened blood rate, and as he drifted down the
channel toward one of the iliacs, he noted other signs
of something unusual. The air, or rather the plasma
that was his air, seemed close and heavy, making breath-
ing uncomfortable, while it seemed to have grown un-
comfortably warmer. He recollected his trip through the
brain and he remembered the increased heat there with
distaste. The present instance, though, seemed different ;
along with the heat was a vague feeling of something
that at once stimulated him and recalled all he had
thought and heard and instinctively knew of fighting.

He made the circuit with the blood and started back
up the vena cava, when he realized where the dis-
turbance came from. As he passed the opening of the
portal vein instead of the gush of sweetened, if some-
what stale, blood that he had always met there, he en-
countered a flood of noxious fluid that fairly swarmed
with tiny darting objects that twisted in and out among
the cells, occasionally striking at one but mainly hurry-
ing along with the stream. Along with them came a
hormone, clear cut in its message and peremptory in
its command.

L EUCON shot with the current through the heart
and back down the Aorta and joined a veritable
throng of other Polymorphs that seemed bent upon the
same mission as himself. As they swung into the
mesenteric artery, he noted that it seemed larger than
usual and the increase in size extended all the way
through the smallest arteriole or subdivision. He in-
tuitively realized that an excess of blood and many
times the usual number of Leucocytes were badly needed
some place down the line.

Growing more sure of his route as he progressed,
even without the guidance of the crowd, Leucon swept
down the main artery through a branch and straight
into the appendiceal. Here, other than a slowing of
the stream and a bit of crowding by the other cells, he
noted nothing unusual, but as he approached the end
where a multitude of tiny branches led off, he found
trpuble indeed and realized the source of the call that
had brought him from his customary routine to a point
he had never visited, and that had summoned the crowds
of his fellows who were on every hand. He sensed a
presage of battle and felt with a certain thrill of elation
that he was after all to realize his destiny of strife, in-
stead of wearing out his dayf in a round of common-
place duty.

The entrance to the end artery was jammed with
reds and whites, the reds helplessly trying to float
through, the whites twisting and wriggling over each
other in an effort to get ahead. The current had lost
its onward movement; each impulse from the heart
pushed the jam tighter and each period of relaxation
allowed a recoil so that the crowd of cells, the fluid, and
the walls of the arteriole, wavered in a continuous state
of oscillation

The flat cells of the walls looked curiously enlarged.
They had imbibed fluid until they were distended al-
most to the bursting point; their usual smooth surface
was roughened and their chromatin network strained and
tense. Between them, instead of the customary thin
line of cementing substance, were great gaps through
which fluid seeped with each impulse of the Ijlood
stream. Behind them the connective tissue and smooth
muscle cells were feebly struggling to fill in the inter-
stices and maintain the integrity of the wall, but the
pressure was too great ; fluid, and even erythrocytes,
slipped around them and into the tissue spaces.

After a few moments of trying to force his way
through the crowd in the vessel, Leucon found him-
self firmly hemmed in. He seized upon a convenient
opening and wedged his way through the wall, twisting
and winding between cells until he approached what he
knew must be the small vein accompanying the arteriole.
The tissue around the vein wall was packed with reds,
some of them dead and many dying and all giving off so
little oxygen that he felt stifled. There were a few
Leucocytes, lymphocytes mostly, and an occasional Poly-
morph, none of whom were active. They lay among the
reds, passive or asleep. He wondered at their indiffer-
ence to their surroundings, but soon dismissed all such
thoughts when he took in the scene in the vessel.

The crowd in the arteriole was as nothing compared
to this, while the dead red cells and passive whites were
few compared to the numbers in sight. The venule was
packed from side to side and from end to end with
broken down reds and whites and many that barely
struggled. Around them were countless fragments of
endothelium broken from the wall in patches here and
there, and in the spaces between them were multitudes
of tlie minute darting objects that he had seen coming
from the portal vein. Such of the white cells as were
alive were packed with rod-like objects they had en-
gulfed and they seemed to be feebly working their way
toward the larger vein. Some had swallowed too much ;
one, before his eyes, gave up the struggle of digestion
and subsided into a quiescent mass, resting quietly
among the debris of which he had become a part. Oth-
ers continued pushing their way through, moving slowly,
quite without their usual brisk energy.

The tiny darting objects Leucon saw, all came from
one direction, from the beginning of the venule, whence
the engorged Leucocytes were making their way. They
came in swarms and .some stayed to fly at every living
cell in sight, while many more hurried toward the blood-
stream end of the venule. They moved in a manner
strange to Leucon, without fins or tail and yet faster
than the current. They seemed impelled by some force
like molecular dispersion, which was in fact their method
of progress.

Tl^HEN they flew at a cell, they always struck by one
’ I' end and he saw that this end opened like a tiny trap
which on contact closed and clung to the cell wall. They
were small, so small that a few seemed to have little effect
on the cell attacked, save to make it squirm, but when
numbers found a foothold (or rather a mouth-hold),
they seemed to hamper the cell’s movements and finally
to paralyze it. Many of the endothelial fragments lying
about were quite covered with them while some of the
most lethargic, and all of the dead Leucocytes, bristled
with darts like porcupines.

Leucon, after he had watched from the wall for a

THE WHITE ARMY

537

moment, pushed through and rolled into the middle of
the venule. Immediately he had done so he snapped
into a ball and tingled throughout his body in mingled
fear and anger. One of the tiny darts had struck him
and for the first time in his life he knew pain, sharp
agonizing pain that burned to the center of his being.
He attempted to draw away from it, but despite his
every wriggle, it clung to its hold. He then, since his
chief means of action lay in his amoeboid ability, tried
to flow around and engulf it, but he found the portion of
his body where it clung strangely numb and quite help-
less. After a moment the pain subsided and he drew
to the wall and crawled into a nook to think, the dart
making no further move, save to tightly hang where it
had seized.

Leucon’s first reaction to attack had been fear. When
the pain subsided, he became angry and a moment’s
cogitation gave birth to a firm resolve to rid himself of
the attacker at any cost. He saw that the object had
really only a minute .portion of his skin in its jaws and
he also saw that these jaws were locked in their place.
Obviously, if he were to free himself, this portion must
go and with a determined thrust from within he cast it
off and saw the dart float away jerking and turning,
but still with the frag-
ment fast in its jaws.

He surveyed the
damage to himself and
found that he missed
the lo.st portion not at
all, while the pain and
numbness were entire-
ly gone. He felt a dis-
tinct sense of triumph
at his victory and felt
too, a return of the
urge which had
brought him thus far
and which he had quite
forgotten in the en-
counter. Swinging
from the wall, he
moved up the stream,
passing dead and dy-
ing whites and reds in
increasing numbers.

There were multitudes
of the tiny darts and
some attacked him,
but he was now pre-
pared, and met each
with a fragment of
skin that effectively
blocked its jaws. After
a few encounters, he
found it easier to meet
them with a fragment
of skin ready pre-
pared, and he began to bristle with tiny points and even
to cast some of them off to meet newcomers.

R ounding a turn in the venule, he saw a dense
• crowd of Leucocytes, Polymorphs like himself,
blocking the passage from wall to wall. They twisted
and turned among themselves but always maintaining a
solid rampart of flesh, a rampart against which some-
thing on the other side seemed to be struggling. Occa-

sionally one would drop out and drift away and imme-
diately another would swing into its place. The ones
that fell out were each packed full of the rod-like objects,
while every portion of their surface was covered with
clusters of the tiny darts. Some struggled as they
drifted, others were quiet as though paralyzed.

An opening appeared before him, and he stepped into
it to find another layer fronting him. In this stratum,
too, he saw a niche and he squeezed into it, elbowing
out a fellow who seemed willing to leave.

On each side and above and below were Leucocytes
like himself ; in front he saw a perfect host of the rod-
like creatures. The latter came from farther up in the
venule and swam down in swarms to throw themselves
in vicious abandon upon the living wall of Leucocytes.
In size and general appearance they resembled the
colon .bacilli that Leucon had seen during digestion, save
that their heads were larger and their jaws more fiercely
armed. These heads were dragon shaped, the jaws
opening widely and were fitted with two rows of jagged
teeth. Each head blended into a short rod-sliaped body
that terminated at the other end in a minute flat tail,
by which the organisms sculled themselves along.

Leucon now saw where the dart-like creatures came

from. Each bacillus
from time to time
emitted one from
his body ; it sprang
like Minerva, full-
grown, and straight-
way shot toward the
nearest cell in attack.
Some missed their
first objective and
these dived .between
the Leucocytes or be-
tween the wall cells to
emerge behind the bar-
ricade and so gain the
blood stream. Memory
of what the two edu-
cated Leucocytes had
said came to Leucon
and he recognized the
tiny objects for what
they were, toxin mole-
cules eager to engage
the receptors of body
cells. He realized too,
with a thrill of pride,
that his expedient of
a fragment of skin
that stopped their avid
jaws was the answer
to their menace, an
Antitoxin.

He had little time
to meditate. He had
barely gained his place in the wall when the first of the
bacilli advanced upon him snapping his jaws and heralding
his attack with a rush from a newly fledged toxin mole-
cule. This latter Leucon quickly neutralized and he met
the bacillus with a hastily outflung pseudopod. The jaws
closed upon it, giving less pain than he had anticipated
and the next moment he had rolled himself around the
tentacle crushing and engulfing the foe. He found little
trouble in digesting him ; in fact he seemed to gain in

There was ample evidence that the battle waged. Debris
of cells and tissue floated down and other engorged Leucocytes
came from time to time to lick their wounds and regain strength.

538

AMAZING STORIES

vigor from it and found it increasingly easy to emit
the particles of antitoxin as he disposed of the vicious
jaws and body.

As he looked about for his next victim, he was sur-
prised to see that the swarms of the enemy had retreated
while the Leucocytes around him enjoyed a needed rest.
The one next to him turned and said, “I’m glad you’re
here, Polymorph. You are the first one yet to cope with
that toxin. We’ve all tried, but no one before has found
the right combination.”

The word was passed from mouth to mouth and all
crowded around Leucon congratulating him and asking
how he did it. He demonstrated the manner in which he
had thrust out and cast off the tiny protuberances that
filled and locked the jaws of the toxin molecules and
soon all were emitting them. The message traveled and
in a short time Leucocytes and phagocytic wall cells in
all directions were sending forth streams of the anti-
bodies.

T he respite the invaders gave them was short; they
soon came back in increased numbers, charging and
biting like beings possessed and ever sending ahead of
them the volleys of toxin. This time, however, the anti-
toxin was ready and each tiny dart was met with an
antibody that made for its mouth as unerringly as the
toxin molecules made for the cells.

There was something fascinating to Leucon in the way
this combat of midgets took place in the midst of their
own warfare. A toxin molecule would be discharged and
without a moment’s hesitation or pause for aim, would
dart for the nearest free cell. At the same instant the
nearest antibody would fly at its head, never at its tail or
body where there was no point of access, and lock itself
fast in the gaping jaws effectually blocking them. There
seemed some powerful attraction between them and in-
deed there was, the attraction of an unlinked valence in
the atomic structure of the antibody for the opposite elec-
trical charge in the toxin molecule.

Even with the help of the antitoxin, Leucon quickly
saw that the fight was far from a sinecure. Relieved of
the stinging, paralyzing bites of the toxin, the Leucocytes
performed prodigies of destruction, crushing and engulf-
ing hundreds of the foe, but the number of the enemies
seemed legion ; when one was disposed of, two seemed to
take its place, and each new one seemed more active than
its predecessors.

Leucon caught one particularly large one by the head
and pulled it toward him to engulf it. To his astonish-
ment, it broke in two in the middle and immediately de-
veloping head and jaws, swam away, snapping and biting
to join its fellows. The organisms were reproducing, not
only in their original focus but even at the threshold of
conflict.

A little later the cells in the wall of the vein which
heretofore had maintained their integrity despite all at-
tacks upon them, began to crumble, and the organisms be-
gan to work around the wall of Leucocytes. Leucon fol-
lowed the impulse that seemed to dominate all of them at
the same moment and still fighting, started to retreat
down the vein to a new position between healthy walls.
They moved a short distance and stood fast, but Leucon
had become so distended with organisms that his move-
ments were sluggish and he pushed back from the fore-
front and gave place to a new and fresh Polymorph. He
joined other limping warriors and drifted down the vein
where reds were more numerous and the air fresher.

“Too bad about these chaps,” gesticulating toward the
dead Leucocytes in the channel, “they got theirs before
the antitoxin was developed,” the Polymorph next to him
remarked. Something in the tone of his voice caught
Leucon’s attention and peering more closely, he recog-
nized his companion of former days, Poli, battle-scarred
and worn, to be sure, but none the less his old friend.
Tired as he was, he found a real thrill of pleasure in see-
ing him and he forgot his weariness in his excitement
as he rejoined :

“Yes, it’s tough, but it was some fight. Do you re-
member telling me about fighting organisms so long ago?
This is my first taste of it, but you were right ; it is a
Polymorph’s career and I’m quite content.”

They drifted, as he spoke, to a clean niche in the vein
and anchored, side by side as they had in the time Jong
past. Poli looked him over critically and finally recog-
nized him.

“Bless me, if it isn’t Leucon, the chap I piloted around
when he was only a boy. You’ve grown, young fellow ;
you’re as large as I am and” — with a rueful grin — “al-
most as battle-scarred. Well, that is indeed our function
in life. We work and fight and we’ve been lucky ; those
others we’ve seen are dead and we are only due for a
rest. Let’s rest.”

Thus, philosophically, Poli dismissed the events of
their lives and swinging at ease in the stream, prepared to
digest what he had swallowed. Leucon felt inclined to
talk and not at all like sleeping, but he followed Poll’s ex-
ample, and together they nodded in the gentle current
until the last vestige of all they had engulfed was gone.
After a time they awakened, refreshed and prepared to go
back to the fight.

T here was ample evidence that the battle still
waged. Debris of cells and tissue floated down and
other engorged Leucocytes came from time to time to lick
their wounds and regain strength. And as they started
back up tbe stream, Leucon felt the old pull, the chemo-
taxis (sensitiveness to solutions of chemicals) that had
brought him to the scene. .

As they worked their way back along the walls of the
stream, Leucon asked Poli if he knew who and what the
invaders were, confessing, that beyond the fact that they
were enemies, he knew nothing of them.

“Why those are bacillus coli, the same as you saw in
the intestine,” Poli answered. “Only, these have had a
chance to become virulent while those others were harm-
less. That appendix, where the fight is on, has always
been a bad spot ; we had a skirmish with them there, just
before you were born, although it has been quiet lately.
You see the mesentery is .slightly kinked and anything
which shuts off the blood supply lowers the vital resist-
ance of the part and permits the germs to become patho-
genic. Bacillus coli is an opportunist ; he is a friendly
cuss until you give him an opening by lowering the re-
sistance and then he steps in. The toxins from this last
outbreak were very severe; we retreated time and again
and I’m afraid we will lose much of the appendix. If we
do, we will have to wall it off with connective tissue,”
he grinned as he spoke. “You would turn into a good-
looking connective tissue cell.”

As they returned toward the scene of conflict, Leucon
saw much to support Poli’s statement. The flow of toxin
molecules had degenerated into a mere trickle and these
were all neutralized, but there was a constant seepage of
what he instinctively recognized as a juice from necrotic

THE WHITE ARMY

539

tissue. The Leucocytes were marshalling in increasing
numbers and many of them, instead of working towards
the battle, were plastering themselves against the walls
and sticking there, while others crawled between and be-
hind the wall cells and settled into place. One, as he
watched, began to change color and contract and he saw
to his astonishment that the connective tissue cell behind
it was eating it. The two blended and were one for a
moment and then he saw two connective tissue cells in
place of one and a Leucocyte. The new one contracted,
sealing a point in the wall and slightly narrowing the
lumen (opening) of the venule.

F ollowing PoII’s lead, he paused only a moment,
then crawled through a narrow point and squeezed
into another line of battle.

The foe, he found, had not lessened in vigor during his
absence; they were now without the aid of their toxin,
but each individual organism bit and snapped with an en-
terprise that more than made up for it. Side by side,
Leucon and Poli held their place, sometimes even ad-
vancing to meet their foes beyond the line. They caught
and crushed and swallowed until they were satiated, and
still there seemed no let-up. They thrust out a tentacle,
caught an enemy by head or tail, drew him in and dis-
patched him ; lashed out with two pseudopods at once
and ground a pair together until they ceased struggling ;
threw themselves on a group and rolled them to death
against the wall ; as the fight dragged on they tried every
imaginable method of offense and still there seemed no
end in sight. Leucon looked about for help, but every
one seemed busy on his own sector. Suddenly the Leu-
cocyte next to him weakened in his efforts and a score of
the enemy threw themselves upon him and tore him to
pieces.

Startled, Leucon looked frantically for the reenforce-
ment that should have filled his place, but the hole behind
him was tightly closed with connective tissue and he re-
alized with a thrill of horror that they were cut off. Be-
hind him was only a blank wall ; before him were necrotic
tissue and myriads of enemies. He turned helplessly
toward Poli as he had turned for advice so long ago and
saw beyond him the last of their fellows being torn to
pieces.

A fresh crowd surged upon Poli and instead of his
usual dash to meet them, he relaxed beneath their onset.
He called weakly to Leucon : “So long, old-timer, it’s been
a good fight. The fellows behind have walled us off, but
they’ve also walled oflf the organisms.”

He gave a convulsive shudder and was dead; in fin
instant a score of the foe had torn him into as many
pieces. ;

Leucon mechanically continued to fight, but he felt his
own efforts becoming weaker. A lethargy descended upon
him and he seemed to view things through a haze. He
found time to wonder if this were death and to marvel at
its lack of pain ; he no longer felt the bites of his enemies,
although he dimly realized that he, too, was being torn to
pieces.

There came a sheen of something bright and smooth
and immeasurably large gliding past him, a flash of blind-
ing light and a voice that could he have understood it,
said, “Suture please.”

Then there was left of Leucon only a score of pieces
carried in as many directions by a host of triumphantly
wriggling enemies.

T he nurse rose respectfully from her seat at the chart
desk as the surgeon in his operating gown ap-
proached.

“How is my patient? Still under ether, I know, but
how is his pulse?”

“In good shape? That’s fine! Give him my usual
routine, liquids as tolerated and morphine, if necessary.”

He seated himself and reached for a pen to write the
orders upon the chart, then leaned back and stretched
his arms.

“That was a nasty appendix, adherent at the tip and
necrotic clear to the base, although it was pretty well
walled off there. The onset was queer too ; the patient
says he had a bit of pain ten days ago and ab.solutely no
other complaint until this morning. That,” he glanced at
his watch, “was just four hours ago. It shows ;what an
apparently normal appendix can do when it decides to be-
come acute.

“Keep an eye on him for a while, he was pretty toxic,
although I think he has rallied now.

“I’m due at my office. Good-day.”

The End.

In October Amazing Stories

Death from the Skies

By A. Hyatt Verrill

A complete nexv interplanetary novelette

The Secret Kingdom

By Otis Adelbert Kline

Beginning a brand nezv serial of ethnological interest in three parts

T his is one of a series of stories by this author, some
of which appeared already in Amazing Stories. Mr.
Alexander has conceived numerous ingenious plans for
remedying some seeming irreparable damage, which was
BQOre than organic, in that it affected the psychological

life of the person to a great extent. In this story he gives
us a plausible theory as to where the seat of the dog’s
uncanny sixth sense might be and the use to which such
knowledge might be applied in life. Besides furnishing
food for thought, the story is highly entertaining.

-D og’s Sixth Sense

By W, Alexander

Author of: "New Stomachs for Old,” "The Fighting Heart,” etc.

EG pardon, sir, Professor Scroggins from the
laboratory to see you,” said Hawkins, Dr.
Wentworth’s man, standing just within the
library door. “Shall I show him in?”

“Oh, I suppose so, Hawkins,” answered the
doctor with a regretful sigh, placing his magazine on the
table, “but I might almost as well be married if my
evenings are to be disturbed in this way.”

“Ah, good-evening. Professor,” he greeted his vis-
itor a moment later. “Nothing wrong at the laboratory
I trust?”

“No, not at all. Doctor,” assured Professor Scrog-
gins, an unkempt little man with a fiery red Van Dyke
beard, peering intently at the doctor through huge
thick-lensed glasses. “It is only that I must talk to you
about my experiments with dogs’ eyes. I tried to talk
to you about the matter many times — whenever you
drop in at the laboratory, in fact — but you are always
in such a hurry that I can not get your attention.”

“Very well. Professor,” said Dr. Wentworth, smiling
kindly at the nervous little man moving restlessly about
the room, “you have me cornered now, so tell me what
is on your mind. But as I told you before, when you
mentioned the experiments on which you were working,
I think the idea is absolutely crazy.”

“The idea is new, but not crazy,” protested Scrog-
gins vehemently. “Years ago you would have said
the same of the X-ray, the radio and grafting an ani-
mal’s eye into the empty socket in a man’s head, and
thereby restoring his vision. Today we take those
things as a matter of course and you think nothing at
all of grafting a pig’s eye into a man’s head, who has
lost an eye, and so restoring his sight.”

“There is some truth in what you say,” conceded the
doctor thoughtfully. “Everything in science that was
radical, seemed crazy when it was first suggested. Ex-
plain to me what you have accomplished in your ex-
periments and what you wish of me.”

“You are now using the eyes from pigs, which I pre-
pare for you in the laboratory, in your restoration of sight
operation. In your next operation, I would like you to
use a dog’s eye, that I will prepare for you. When laid
on the table side by side, you can’t tell the two eyes
apart, but my theory is, that an eye from a highly trained
dog, when properly grafted into the empty socket in a
man’s head, will not only give that man vision — as does
the pig’s eye which you are now using — but will give
him the power to read another person’s thoughts.

“I have proved to my complete satisfaction that a
well-trained dog can, to some extent, read a person’s
thoughts. Men who have made a life-long study of dogs
all agree to this. A notable example is Terhune with
his collies. He gives instance after instance, in proof
that his dogs do read his thoughts.

“I contend then, that if you put a dog’s eye in a man’s
head, it will become many times more efficient at reading
thoughts, when backed by the man’s superior intelli-
gence.”

“Your contention is plausible,” remarked the doctor
after a moment’s thought, “but I should want to do
some work with you in the laboratory before attempting
the operation. You see, in my use of pigs’ eyes in my
operations, I am merely following the discoveries made
by the French surgeon. Dr. Perriot. When I attended
his clinic, he informed me that he had experimented
with the eyes of a great many different animals, and
had found that the eyes of pigs were best adapted to
grafting to the human being. I promise you. Pro-
fessor, that as soon as I can find the time, I will work
with you in the laboratory on the possibility of grafting
a dog’s eye to a man. If we find it possible, I will
use it in an operation and ascertain if it does make the
person a thought-reader, as you surmise.”

“Well, I suppose I will have to wait until you are
ready,” said Professor Scroggins regretfully, as he pre-
pared to leave. “I can do no more with my experiments.
It is you only that has the skill to graft the eye in a
hiunan head. But mark my words, the dog has a
sixth sense, call it thought-reading or what you may,
that I believe comes to him through his eyes. This
faculty will be greatly enhanced when aided by a man’s
brain.”

T he first man to be ushered into Dr. Wentworth’s
office on the following morning was a clean-cut,
well-built young man, who introduced himself as Lewis
Brunston, private detective. He wore a green patch
over one eye, held in place by a bit of elastic, which en-
circled his head.

“I lost my eye a short time ago. Doctor,” he said,
“while trying to arrest a gang of box-car thieves. I have
heard rumors of a wonderful operation that you are
performing, restoring sight by placing an artificial eye
in the empty socket. Has some one been stringing me,
or is it true?”

“Perfectly true,” assured the doctor, “I have per-

540

Illustration by Brills

In moments of leisure, the scientist stares at the thought-reading
eye, which rests in a tank of alcohol.

541

542

AMAZING STORIES

formed a number of such operations within the last year
and all were successful in restoring the vision. Let me
examine your eye-socket.”

After a careful examination, the doctor informed him
that the optic nerve was unimpaired and that sight could
be restored.

‘‘It does seem impossible,” exclaimed Brunston in-
credulously, “that you can restore a man’s sight by
sticking in a glass eye.”

“But we do not use glass eyes,” explained Dr. Went-
worth. “We use an eye from a pig. By subjecting it to
a certain treatment, we can keep it in perfect condition,
tissues alive though dormant, until we are ready to use
it, even after as long an interval as three months.

“Before the pig’s eye is placed in your empty socket,
the back is coated thickly with Doctor Zambi’s famous
collodiansy, this causes a perfect fuse or graft between
your nerves, muscles, veins and arteries, and those of
the new eye. Even your optic nerve becomes firmly
fused to the optic nerve in the pig’s eye. Gradually
blood commences to circulate through the new eye and
when circulation reaches normal, sight is restored.”

“That sounds marvelous,” exclaimed Brunston en-
thusiastically. “How soon can you operate on me? A
man in the detective business needs two eyes, plus.”

“You may arrange to enter the hospital to-morrow.
It will be ten days before you will lie ready to leave.”

The operation was successfully performed and two
weeks later Lewis Brunston was again in his office,
ready for business. Up to this time he had made no
great success as a detective. In fact, it would have been
difficult for him to pay for Dr. Wentworth’s operation
had it not been for an accident insurance policy that
he carried, which paid him five thousand dollars for the
loss of his eye.

A few weeks after he had resumed business, it com-
menced to grow in leaps and bounds. He soon gained a
reputation in the city for never failing to solve a mys-
tery. Then his fame spread over the state and in the
course of six months he had gained a national reputa-
tion as a solver of mysteries. He was called to all parts
of the country in difficult cases, and while his fees were
high, no mystery remained a mystery, when he had fin-
ished with a case. He became front page news for the
papers and was lauded as a far greater detective than
Conan Doyle’s mythical Sherlock Holmes.

I T was just a little over a year after the operation that
Lewis Brunston called at Dr. Wentworth’s home,
quite late one night.

“How are you Mr. Brunston ?” asked the doctor, shak-
ing hands with him cordially. “I don’t think that I have
seen you since I performed the operation for restoring
the sight of your left eye. But I often see your name
in the paper, as you have become a national character.”

“Yes, yes. Doctor,” replied Brunston gloomily, draw-
ing nervously on his cigarette. “I have done well enough
in business, made a fortune in fact, but I am the most
miserable man in the world.”

“Miserable?” questioned the doctor in surprise. “That
is odd, I should suppose that you would be a very happy
man. You are an outstanding success in your profession,
and have made a fortune very quickly.”

“That’s all well enough, but why did you not warn me
as to the kind of eye I was getting — though at that, it
would probably have done no good.”

“Just what do you mean, sir?” demanded Dr. Went-
worth, somewhat nettled at the man’s tone and manner.
“I took great care to explain to you in detail, the nature
of the operation and what the result would be.”

“Quite true, you did,” Brunston replied sharply, “but
you failed to inform me that the eye I was acquiring
would enable me to read a person’s thoughts.”

“You are crazy, man,” exclaimed the doctor hotly,
looking at him with growing suspicion and sniffing the
air for an odor of liquor. “That pig’s eye is no mind
reader.”

“Pig’s eye or cow’s eye, it sure is,” replied Brunston
positively, “and it improves with use, because I can
read thoughts now much more easily than at first. Just
you sit there and think a few thoughts and I’ll read them
for you.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and
held it lightly over his right eye, staring intently at the
doctor with the acquired left eye. “You are thinking
that I am drunk, or have been taking dope. Now you
are thinking of some conversation you had with Scrog-
gins. Now you are wondering if he slipped something
over on you.”

“Wonderful,” muttered the doctor in astonishment.
“I believe you now and I can guess what happened. Just
before your operation. Professor Scroggins, then the
head of my laboratory, tried to interest me in using
dogs’ eyes instead of pigs’ eyes. He believed that a per-
son equipped with a dog’s eye could read another per-
son’s thoughts, just as a dog, to some extent, can read
his master’s mind. He believed this faculty would be
very much increased in the man, because, it would be
backed by the human brain and intelligence. I promised
to look into the matter later, when I found the time.

“I am now convinced, that when he sent up the eye I
was to use in your operation, he sent me a dog’s eye in-
stead of a pig’s eye. Just after your operation he had a
stroke of apoplexy and before he died he tried to tell me
something about an eye, but a second stroke killed him
before I could understand what he was trying to tell
me. After his death, on invoicing the laboratory, we
found on hand one more eye than could be accounted
for.”

“Well it is a wonderful eye,” said Brunston gravely.
“With it I can now read thoughts as easily as you read
the newspaper, and it has made me a fortune. The faculty
of reading thoughts was what established my reputation
as an infallible solver of mysteries. But I don’t want
it for it has turned me away from my wife and ail of
my friends. I am now convinced that it is the prerogative
of the Supreme Being only, to read the thoughts of
men.”

“How in the world did you discover its power to read
thoughts ?” asked the doctor with keen interest.

“It was quite by accident,” answered Brunston. “About
three weeks after my operation, the president of a local
bank called me in, ostensibly to help them solve the.
mystery of the disappearance of fifty thousand dollars
in currency from the bank,

“Sitting in his office while he explained the case, I was
annoyed by gnats flying in through the open window.
They buzzed about my face and one finally flew into my
right eye. I wiped it out with my handkerchief, but as
my eye continued to burn, I held my handkerchief over
it, at the same time concentrating my attention on the
president’s explanation.

“As I watched him with my left eye, I suddenly be-

THE DOG’S SIXTH SENSE

543

came aware that I knew just what he was going to say,
before he spoke. It was something like listening to one
of those slow speaking people — ^you know what they are
going to say and can hardly resist the temptation to say
it quickly for them.

“''IT THEN he finished telling me the details of the

VV case, I asked for a few minutes to study it over,
and sat — as he supposed — buried in deep thought. Actu-
ally I was watching him closely with my left eye. I
could hardly repress my astonishment at the thoughts
I read passing through his mind. ‘I have this dumb de-
tective fooled nicely.’ So his thoughts ran, ‘'Wouldn’t
he be surprised if he knew that the fifty thousand was
tucked away in my private safe at home.’

“After a moment I said : ‘Mr. President, I am a fast
worker in simple cases such as this. My fee is ten
thousand dollars, which I will take now, and at three
this afternoon I will give you the solution of the mys-
tery, find the money, or return my fee.’

“He demurred for a time, but finally gave me a certi-
fied check, his thoughts reading that he was only lend-
ing me the check until the afternoon.

“When I met him at three o’clock, I forced him to re-
turn the money, sell his stock in the bank to the vice-
president and resign his position as president and direc-
tor. I allowed him to tell the directors a fairy tale to
save his face.

“That was the beginning of my career as a solver of
mysteries. However, I could not confine my thought-
reading to business. In chatting with a friend, I would
frequently cover my right eye for a moment and so read
his thoughts. Sometimes those thoughts were uncom-
plimentary to myself, and my friendship would turn to

dislike and a friend was lost to me. I am fond of a
social game of poker, but could not resist the tempta-
tion to read the thoughts of the other players and so
learn what cards they held, when the play was close
and the pot was big. I won so consistently that my ac-
quaintances soon looked on me with suspicion and ceased
to invite me to join their games.

“One night, after a tiff with my wife over some very
trivial matter, I read her thoughts and what I read
turned my love to aversion. And so my wife was lost to
me.

“Believe me. Dr. Wentworth,” concluded Brunston
with deep emotion, “no man can read the thoughts of
others and long keep his sanity. If the ability became
common, we would soon become again the snarling, sus-
picious beasts of our cave-man days. No woman’s vir-
tue would be safe, for at times we would read in her
thoughts that, which it is not well for a man to know.
Man’s honor would be unsafe, for at times, under stress,
his thoughts would reveal its price. Reading the thoughts
of others will make a quick fortune, true, but the world
will become too foul to live in. Please take back this
eye, that I may forget the thoughts I have read.”

“That is the most remarkable tale I have ever heard,”
said Dr. Wentworth, with the enthusiasm of the scien-
tist which he was. “What a pity that poor Scroggins did
not live to hear it. Enter the hospital to-morrow and I
will perform another operation, relieving you of this
obnoxious eye, and replacing it with a pig’s eye, such as
we have always used.”

Lewis Brunston’s thought-reading eye now rests in a
tank of alcohol on Dr. Wentworth’s desk, and in mo-
ments of leisure the scientist stares at it, picturing its
immense possibilities.

The End

What Do You Know?

"O EADERS of Amazing Stories have frequently commented upon the fact that there is more actual knowledge
to be gained through reading its pages than from many a textbook. Moreover, most of the stories are
written in a popular vein, making it possible for anyone to grasp important facts.

The questions which we give below are all answered on the pages as listed at the end of the questions. Please

see if you can answer the questions without looking for
knowledge of science.

1. What is the action of bacteria in the human system?
(See page 535.)

2. What is chemotaxis? (See page 538.)

3. What is the Kelvin balance? (See page 516.)

4. What is a tesseract? (See page 518.)

5. What is a pseudopod? (See page 528.)

6. What is the coloring matter of the blood and its
name? (See page 531.)

7. Does the food you eat pass inside or outside of
your b^y? (See page 531.)

8. What is the largest vein in the body? (See page
532.)

the answer, and see how well you check up on your general

9. What organ forms sugar in the blood? (Sec p^e
532.)

10. How often does the blood of a human being go
through the lungs? (See page 532.)

11. What change of gases are the red blood corpuscles
(erythrocytes) subjected to and what is the effect
on their color? (See page 533.)

12. What is the function of hormones? (See page 533.)

13. Do men walking on the earth attract it? (See
page 569.)

14. What do the limitations of motion appear to be by
the Lorentz-Fitzgerald equation? (See page 575.)

Concluding Our New Interplanetary Serial

Out of the V oid

By Leslie F. Stone

Part II

What Went Before

his way to a week-end shack in the woods near a fishing stream, the narrator of this
f B story is arrested by the gleam of glass, which shines through the trees. On entering
the shack, he finds his camp clothes are gone and that a ruby of astonishing beauty has
been left, apparently to replace it. He goes out to investigate, remembers the gleam of glass,
and follows that trail.

He'redches an open glade in the woods, where a giant construction of torpedo design is
reposing. Close inspection and careful investigation fail to disclose what it is. Chagrined,
he starts toward the village for help, but is halted by an unearthly shriek and is captured and
dragged into this strange structure, almost before he can recover from his astonishment. Dur-
ing the process of capture he suffers a broken collar bone and all becomes oblivion. When
he regains consciousness, he sees a giant man of silver skin and lavender eyes bending over
him. He learns he is a captive in the Yodverl, a ship from Abrui, a planet beyond the Void,
come to earth to deliver a message to Professor Ezra Rollins, a scientist, who had many years
before sent Dana Gleason, supposed by the world to be a brave and adventure-loving young
man, on an experimental trip to Mars, in a rocket ship of his own construction.

Only Richard Dorr, an engineer and friend of the professor, and his daughter, Elsie, know
that Dana Gleason was a woman and was in love with her. Just as the rocket ship was ready
to clear its moorings and shoot off into space. Dorr made his way in, unnoticed. It was too
late to put him out when Dana discovers him.

And now Sa-Dak, the silver visitor from Abrui, a planetoid many thousand miles beyond
Mars, goes to Africa with the Yodverl and tells the professor, when they arrive at his home
there, of his mission. He tells of the almost disastrous landing of the rocket ship on Abrui
and hands the professor a diary in which Dana Gleasori has recorded faithfully her experiences
of the trip into and through the Void, practically to the time of the landing,

Elsie Rollins is reading the contents of the diary aloud.

Illustrations by Hugh McKay

An Awakening

HEN we knew at last that Mars was not
for us, that the hoary old fellow was
laughing at us, something seemed to break
within me. I experienced dizziness, a
faintness, a blackness, and a desire to cry.
I, Dana Gleason! I reeled and would have fallen if
Dick, dear Dick, had not caught me and carried me
back to our living quarters and laid me gently on the
couch. For what seemed hours he cradled me in his
arms. Was ever a man kinder, gentler? And then .. .
he kissed me, Dana Gleason, who had never been kissed !

“ ‘Dana,’ he was whispering, ‘we have lost, it is true,
but did we not undertake to leave Earth behind? A
little less time to live, but a longer time to learn the
meaning of eternity. You have been brave, wonder-

fully brave. Is this the time to forget your courage?’
He said more and more, that I scarcely heard. Some-
thing new was creeping into me, a strange warmness
that I had never known. What was it? Was it this
newly realized womanhood that was grasping me?

“A new life was flowing into my body. ‘Dana,
Dana,’ he whispered, as if anyone else could hear,
‘How I love you. I loved you before I knew you were
a woman, and I have adored you more each day. True
I have suffered every day that I was so near you and
could not tell you. Always I forced myself to act the
role of a friend. I did not dream that it would come
this way. ... I thought that on this other world we
should find love together, in the need for each other,
work together, live for each other. Instead, God is
giving us Death. . . .’

“Tears stood in his eyes, and now it was I who must

544

The 'walls of the cabin 'were of glass and above her sounded the

beat of 'wings.

545

546

AMAZING STORIES

give comfort. Was there not at least a year ? Our pro-
visions safely guarded would last even longer. At
least we had each other. Each other, how sweet that
sounds. For hours we did not move, scarcely talking,
sitting there, delighting in each other. We fell asleep
there with arms intertwined, and the majesty of Mars
passed us by.

“Dick was the first to awaken, and I opened to the
sound of his whistle from the bathroom as he bathed
and shaved. I had heard him do the same thing every
morning aboard the rocket, but this morning it all
sounded so different. It made me indescribably happy.
Then he came forth, fresh and glowing, and took me in
his arms again.

"As I performed my ablutions I heard him in the
kitchen with the coffee percolator, and I hurried to help
him prepare breakfast. There were two oranges left
and some eggs in a wax jacket. We made bread from
our supplies, and for the rest we were now eating chemi-
cally compounded pellets that are as nourishing as meats,
vegetables, and fruits, except that they do not satisfy
the taste. There is still a whole, case of chocolates and
the wherewithal to make other sweets, when that supply
gives out.

"Never have I etiten a happier meal than that break-
fast. It was as if I had never eaten before, and there
would be at least 365 more of such breakfasts. Beyond
that we do not try to think. We have begun to live,
why think of dying? Imagine happiness aboard a
rocket traveling farther and farther into the space
where time is an unreckoned quantity, and age is
ageless. Was there ever a like honeymoon ?

“We climbed again to the look-out. There was
Mars, immense, serene and out of our reach. We
turned away with little concern. I hate to think of
what might have been had not Dick climbed into the
rocket at the very last moment. We laugh to think
that I tried to put him out.

“ ‘I’ll admit that I lied to you in saying I came in the
interests of Professor Rollins. No man could be that
great. I feared I would lose you irrevocably if I told
you the truth.’

“ ‘I can’t imagine how you learned that I was a
woman. I was so careful. Dad taught me that, even
to lathering my face each morning and running a
bladeless razor over my face!’

“How he laughed at that. ‘Well, do you recall the
little pool set in a circlet of trees about four miles from
the bungalow where you so often went for a swim?
Incidentally, that was a favorite nook of mine. You
startled me one day from a revery when you came,
thinking there was no one within several miles of you.
Before I could announce myself you had undressed and
were swimming in the pool. I crept away without your
knowing I was there at all !’

“ ‘I was astonished, but then I felt I had always
known. I could not guess why you were masquerading
this way. Of course, I knew your reputation and knew
that you had always lived as a boy. At first I thought
you were intentionally duping the Professor for some
ulterior motive, or perhaps in the interest of others. I
hated you then, and I dreaded the moment you would
disclose the truth to him. Then when I knew that you
really were going through with this I was at my wit’s
end. I could not break the Professor’s heart by telling
him, nor could I let you go alone. So, in part, I was

truthful in saying that it was for Rollins’ interest. That
is all, Dana. . . .’

Breaking the Speed Laws!

M any, many hours, days, and nights, as we
figure time on Earth, have passed and faster
and faster we are making our way across the
Void. We have passed Jupiter and his bright glow is
intense. Far ahead and thousands upon thousands of
miles to the right we can see Saturn with his numerous
satellites and rings. Old Sol grows more distant, less
brilliant. The blackness appears blacker. Yet we care
naught for any of this. Science has succumbed to Love
and we, mites in a cheese box, are living hour for hour,
a whole lifetime to be lived in a day !

“We do not count time. Everything now is in the
present. We do not rewind the clock. It is too cruel
a reminder. We eat, sleep and live only according to
desire.”

LATER :

“We have passed the distant planet Uranus. Our
Universe lies behind. Before us stretches the inconceiv-
able waste that lies between the solar system and its
nearest neighbor millions upon millions of miles away.
It is black, inconceivably black. There is only a glow
of the great world across this sea of nothingness, and
of Worlds and Universes that are more immense than
that which we leave behind. Looking at the meters for
the first time in many days, we discover that we are now
traveling at an incredible rate of speed, nearly as fast
now as light itself. And science tells us that it takes
many years for light to travel from the nearest stars!
And we have only a year to live 1”

LATER :

“We are wrong 1 Life is not for us. The God of the
Immensity has declared himself. After realizing that
we were out of the Universe we did not return to the
lookout for over twenty-four hours. We found then
that the glass was becoming smoky, so smoky that we
could not even see the stars. That can mean only one
thing. The smooth shell of our rocket is burning.
Friction in a vacuum 1 It seems impossible, but what
else could it be ? F riction is wearing away the steel of
our smooth coat. How long ere it will burn through?
Can the shell of our sealed living chambers withstand
that? No, we are not even to have the sanctuary of a
coffin. We are to be belched out into Space to fall
forever with sightless eyes before the awful grandeur.
God is revengeful 1

“After our discovery Dick and I sat staring at each
other with hands interclasped for long hours. ‘It is the
end,’ we whispered together. ‘How happy we have
been 1’

“ ‘How long can we last ?’

“ ‘Only God knows that.’

“ ‘Must we wait ?’ I hated to picture what the end
would be. ‘Can’t we go together with arms around
each other?’

“What to do?

“In answer I pulled out the small automatic that I
had carried with me since childhood. I saw the glow
come into Dick’s blue eyes. He caught me by the
shoulders and looked into my eyes. ‘You are brave,
Dana Gleason.’

“ ‘Only a coward,’ I answered. ‘We will wait until
we see that all is lost. A few hours still remain to us.’ ”

OUT OF THE VOID

547

LSIE ROLLINS looked up from the diary. “That
is all, the book ends here.” She turned to the last
page o£ the book and sat staring at it lying in her hands.

Landing on Abrui

T he Profesiior had been drinking in every word.
“And, what happened? It must have taken a
miracle to save them!”

Our host, who had been listening with half-closed
eyes, looked up. “What happened, the two lovers could
not guess, trapped as they were in the rocket. It was a
miracle that saved them. For beyond Uranus there
lies Abrui, a small planet that has never been discovered
by earthly astronomers and follows somewhat the path
taken by Uranus. It was this planet that reached out
and drew the rocket into its orbit.

“They thought that Space had set their vehicle on
fire, but nothing burns out there. In truth they were
circling our planet. Their belief that they were
traveling as fast as light was probably incorrect. The
meters lied ; due perhaps to the attraction of the planet,
their velocity had decreased rather than increased.

“Abrui’s gravity was slowly drawing the rocket
within a narrowing circle until men of the planet saw
it in their sky. Every hour brought it closer, and the
whole world stared in wonder. Astronomers watched
and surmised. Heretofore, meteorites had fallen with-
out number on our globe, but never had a meteor acted
in such a fashion. By day it shimmered and at night it
glowed, for it had, of course, become red hot as soon as
it entered our atmosphere, driving at such high speed.

“Lower and lower it came, and then it was evident
that in another day it would fall. It was Moura-weit
who was the first to realize that this was no stray sky-
rocket, but in truth a man-made thing, born of some
other world. The conjectures were many. However,
it was Moura-weit and Ubca-tor, his companion, who
followed the course of the rocket in their flyer, to arrive
at its landing. Moura-weit was the only one who con-
ceived the thought that men were riding in that red hot
thing.

“So these two men came to see the landing. Fate
steered toward a wild section of the glolie, an arid, in-
fertile place inhabited only by barbarians. It fell with
a horrible cacophony of sound, exploding in mid-air
and burying half its length in the unprofitable soil of the
plain.

“Moura-weit had wisely kept his plane at a good
distance from the rocket, and he and Ubca-tor ex-
claimed at the beauty and horror of that tremendous
fall. They saw debris flying off in every direction ; for
after the first explosion there came another and another
until like a giant firecracker it was popping and crack-
ing wildly. It was Uljca that saw the thing that looked
like a body, lim]! and lifeless, coming toward them.

“In the great fall of the rocket both of them mar-
veled at the majesty of the breaking up. It could be
seen that in falling every piece of debris settled slowly,
the larger pieces dropping more rapidly, the smaller
following with more deliberation, as a stone that is
thrown in a pool of thick mud slowly sinks out of sight,
the thick liquid buoying it up until by its own weight it
sinks. Abrui being somewhat smaller than Earth has
not as great a power of gravity, and consequently the
Earth-things were of less weight.

“And since the body of Dana Gleason was lighter in
comparison to those great pieces of steel, her fall was
even slower and more gentle. She fell to the ground like
a bit of fluff, scarcely sustaining a jar.

“As soon as the two men descried the human body
they were after it and Ubca jumped from the flyer be-
fore it touched the ground. Carefully he lifted the life-
less body and returned with it to his companion.
Sharply the ])lane arose, for there was still falling de-
bris ; the explosions of the twisted racked structure had
not ceased.

“They laid the body on a couch in the enclosed cabin
and Ubca took control of the flyer so that Moura, who
was acquainted with the art of medicine, might ex-
amine her to .see if life still remained. He felt the faint
beat of the heart, and taking a phial from his pocket,
forced a drop of its contents l)etween her lips. That
action was greeted with convulsions at first, then the
patient commenced to take deep breaths, and from the
moaning it was apparent that she suffered at every
gasp. Moura had already discovered that the rocket’s
passenger was a woman.

“From her lips there came a sound. ‘Dick!’ the lips
formed. Immediately Moura-weit turned to his com-
panion. ‘Quick, circle about. There was a second
passenger !”

“By this time the air was practically clear of falling
debris, except for a few lighter objects that sank slowly
to the ground circling and twirling. The great mass of
iron and steel lay on the ground glowing and smoking.
Ubca directed the plane close to the ground. He was
suddenly aware of shapes taking form some hundred
yards away. They were the barbarians that had been
encamped not far away. Recovering from their fright
they were now slowly approaching the ruin to puzzle out
what had fallen. Ubca saw a second body lying on the
ground. The nearest barbarian was five or six hundred
yards away. The plane touched the ground while
Moura took control. Kneeling beside the unconscious
man, Ubca turned him over. In the red glare from the
wreck he saw the face and with an exclamation of dis-
gust he rose to his feet and scurried back.

“It’s naught but a Goran* he declared.

“Circling about another few minutes they could dis-
cover nothing else. By this time the barbarians were
coming in full force. Their eyes turned to the flyer and
their weapons were unslung. They found the man
Ubca had disdained.

“Moura-weit was confident now that if there was
another passenger in the rocket with the woman, he had
died in the flames. He did not know that Ubca had
mistaken the reddish hair and tanned skin of Richard
Dorr for one of the barbarians, whose skin is like-
wise bronze. Turning the plane about, they headed for
Carajama, the capital of their own country.”

“So came Dana Gleason and Richard Dorr to Abrui,
my friends.” Our host smiled down upon us. During
this narration he had been pacing back and forth before
us.

“Surely, you are going to tell us more?” demanded
the Professor.

“It grows late, sir. Already the sky is becoming
light !” he protested.

“What does that matter? I insist that you tell us all.”

*Tke race of Gora, considered barbarians, 'wbose skin and hair is bronze-
like.

548

AMAZING STORIES

The Story of Sa-Dak

T he other shrugged his shoulders. “It will delay
our departure, l)ut since you wish it, sir . . .
First, however, I shotdd suggest a swim in the
pool to refresh us, and a hit to eat and drink.”

Rollins said he did not swim, hut the bath would be
welcome. Miss Rollins was delighted. I was declared
unfit for swimming because of my shoulder, yet I would
be allowed to take a dip. The golden slave appeared
without a summons and escorted us to the various bed-
rooms. Swimming-suits were brought. These con-
sisted of one-piece affairs of a strange white material
that was silky to the touch and as heavy as jersey. The
trunks reached half-way down the thigh, and the neck
and arm holes were cut low. The slave aided me in un-
dressing, and insisted upon rubbing my shoulder again
with his salve.

Neither the thin frame of the professor, nor my own,
already inclined to corpulency, cut a very fine figure, but
the sight of the two silver men held the eye. Never have
I seen two finer-looking men, both over six feet tall and
with the smooth, flowing muscles of highly developed
bodies. Both wore no more than short trunks. Miss
Rollins looked pretty in her suit.

Rollins and I descended into the pool by way of a
flight of steps, but the other three dived off the side of
the pool into the deep water. They had a race. The
stroke used by the silver men was strange. It mostly
resembled the breast-stroke, except that it was more
“frog-fashion,” both propelled the body through the water
by jerks, hands and feet moving in unison in one great
effort ; and each stroke carried the men almost twice their
length through the water. Naturally enough. Miss Rol-
lins, with her pretty side-stroke, was left a considerable
distance behind.

They joined us; and as the two men stood beside us
I saw that the water ran from their broad chests and
shoulders without seeming to wet them. “That,” said
Sa-Dak reading my thought, “is due to the oil with which
we polish our bodies. It is a matter of pride to keep
our bodies highly polished. The bronze man who neglects
this vanity is not a pretty fellow with his dull ochre
body. We have a saying that ‘a well-oiled body gives
evidence of a well-ordered mind.’ And the poorest of
men oils his body.”

Our bath finished, we returned to the dressing-rooms
and were given great towels that were very absorbent. I
noted how well I felt, how my body glowed, and how the
spirit of well-being pervaded me. Later, we were in-
formed that a small quantity of a solution of radium in
the water produced these effects. My shoulder seemed
completely healed, so that I was never to feel more dis-
comfort from it.

In the atoll we found food awaiting us on small tables
set beside our couches. There was a fresh fruit that
had the taste of both apple and peach and looked like
a melon, some sort of cooked meal, and a hot beverage
that had the taste of many flowers. After eating, we
settled ourselves on our couches once more to hear what
remained to be told of the story of Dana Gleason and
Richard Dorr.

“I am telling this in the third person,” began our host,
"to avoid any unnecessary personal references, and for
easier sequence. Perliaps first I had better explain a
little about the planet, its peoples, its geography, its
history.”

The Narrative

O N Abrui there are three races. The Tabora, who
hold in their grasp the single ocean of the planet,
and esteem themselves the only civilized people
of the planet, though once they were barbarians occupy-
ing the “backlands,” into which they drove the Gora, the
simple-minded. From the Moata, a more ancient race
than themselves, they got their culture, their science and
their social codes, subjugating these people to their will
and enslaving them.

The Tabora is the silver man of Abrui, a fine upstand-
ing man, taller in stature than men of the other races,
with well-formed features and a quick, ready, clear-
thinking mind. The Moata arc golden, smaller than their
masters, weaker, and with fear bred in their minds. The
Gora is the barbarian, made so by circumstances. He is
bronze -colored, bronze-skinned, bronze -haired, and
brown-eyed. He is not quite so tall as the Tabora, but
he has a stockier, more powerful body ; is fearless, though
superstitious, and his imagination peoples his country
with hobgoblins and god-things. He has little science,
since all his days are spent in forcing his barren plains
and swamps and deserts to yield him a livelihood.

Moura-weit and Ubca-tor were of the Tabora. They
were Doatans, and Doata is the most powerful of the
three nations of Tabora. Of Tabora there are the three
countries, Doata, Zoada, and Loata, all bordering on the
one ocean, Sehti. Sehti covers a little more than a thinl
of the planet. Rich, fertile plains border the sea; and
Iteyond the plains are the great mountains, Hopli, which
almost entirely encircle the ocean and are the backbone
of Tabora, separating one fertile plain from another.
Desert's, swamps, wide rivers, all help to separate Gora
from Tabora. Tabora has thousands of cities on the
broad plains, in the rolling tablelands and foothills, and
in the mountains themselves, which are not overly high
but are great irregular chains.

In the ocean, Sehti, lies Ora, a large island, with a
few smaller ones near it. Ora is the seat of all learning ;
it existed in the day of the Moata. Here any man or
woman is welcome to study, to forward science, to teach.
Ora belongs to no nation, having a government of its
own. It is a place of refuge for the exile, the outcast.
Once within its bounds, the malefactor is safe and can
in no way be extradited.

To the south of the ocean lies Zoada, extending over a
thousand miles from east to west and several thousand
miles to the low-lying swamps that separate her from
Gora. Beyond her boundaries is the ice cap of the South-
ern magnetic pole. To the west of her lies Loata. Loata’s
west coast fronts all of the eastern shore of the ocean,
and extends over a great part of the northern coast
besides.

One might wonder how Abrui, which lies so far from
the Sun as to have a solar year of 365 earthly years, can
be inhabited. The answer is simple; for, whereas all
her sister planets depend solely upon the common sun
for their heat and light, Abrui is fortunate enough to
have a sun of her own. Dana Gleason is certain that
on Earth astronomers have never conceived the possibility
of a planet possessing a sun of its own in the same
manner as Abrui possesses one, although the phenomena
of twin suns encircling each other, as well as triple suns,
have been observed. Taboran astronomers have observed
many planets with satellite suns exactly like Abrui’s
companion.

OUT OF THE VOID

549

Still the satellite sun is no rival of Sol, so called by
Earth people, but named Coe by Abruians. Tradr, the
second sun, gives off a warm, rosy-pink glow ; unlike
Sol it does not send out sharp rays but shines more like
the glow from a lamp, so that it is possible to look
<lirectly at the satellite without discomfort. It is be-
lieved that once Tradr was nothing more than a moon
shining only by reflected light. Then the planet must
have been cold, unable to foster life in the poor warmth
from the distant sun. However, something warmed the
moon’s core so that its center seethed as a furnace; and
gra<lually the heat penetrated the whole shell, turning its
solids into gases. Many theories have been brought
forth from Ora concerning the reason of this strange
occurrence of a sphere, once dead, coming to life. The
most prevalent and the most generally believed theory is
that on Tradr is a vast ejuantity of the element, radium.
They understand the power of this element ; and it is
certain that its presence accounts for the “catching afire”
of the satellite.

Tradr, therefore, controls the day of Abrui, and it
encircles the entire globe in a little less than thirty hours ;
while the planet, which turns slowly on its axis, has a
solar day of almost one hundred hours. Sol, therefore,
is like unto a moon to Abrui in the nights when it still
lingers in the heavens; while the planet depends entirely
upon its satellites for both heat and light.

Tradr never alters its course; it gives an even heat,
day after day, with no change of climate year in and year
out, a pleasant warmth; and, except at the southern
pole, extreme cold is unknown. It is toward the northern
pole that Sol directs his rays, and the warmth is enough
to keep that part of the globe from freezing.

The planetary year is naturally reckoned according to
the phases of the satellite sun, counting ten phases to a
year. A phase is of twenty-two days, while the length
of each day is thirty hours.

A Visitor from the Void

I T was night when the earth rocket dropped into the
unfruitful land of the Gora. Sol had been hidden
for many hours behind clouds, but now he was
drawing himself out of the blanket. In size he looked
not as large as an orange, and the light that came from
him was silvery. All about him were myriads of stars
that tried to rival his splendor, great brilliant stars that
twinkled and winked and refused to be extinguished in
the light that Sol shed about him.

Moura-weit and Ubca-tor had no time for the light
of the sun. They were busy with their patient, trying
to bring her to consciousness ; yet she seemed fighting
them. This bothered the two men. “She is seeking for
the other one who accompanied her on her jouniey,” ob-
served Moura. “Were it not for those ropts (rodent-
like creatures)* we could search for the remains of the
other traveler ; for, no doubt, he was caught within that
debris. Were the Gors to find him they would only kill
him, thinking him a demon or whatnot. Well, at least we
have this one.”

Ubca said nothing, his eyes fastened on the strange
being in her queer clothing. He had come on this ad-
venture because Moura-weit had so directed. He was
no more than a boy, who had taken Moura-weit as his
hero and who followed blindly wherever the other might
lead. He was a younger son of the brother of Kirada

‘Gorans.

Walti (king of Doata), as the suffix tor, added to his
name, implied. And as Moura was merely of the Weita,
the lowest rank of Taboran nobility, it was surprising to
find the boy in his train. However, Moura-weit was not
a common man. He was ambitious.

Already it was whispered that Moura-weit had attained
enviable power behind the throne of Doata. He was
beloved of the masses for it, and hated by his superiors —
the nobility. Abrui is not unlike Earth. It has its kings
to rule, its common people to rave and rant and dictate,
its slaves to suffer. And Moura-weit’s ambition was to
be a dictator not only to Doata but also to' Zoada and
Loata.

Moura-weit’s social rank can be compared to that of
the English baronet. People declared that this Moura
was not born of woman as are all men but of the
Unkonatas, a group of scientists, who years before taught
that the foundation of life was not flesh but mind. It
was said that they had produced a child by means of
thought with the aid of a woman. Their next step was
to bring forth a child without woman’s help. The
Wukonuals, a second group, who were materialists,
preached against the Unkonatas, calling them traitors to
the State. Consequently the sect was sought out, many
were killed and the rest dispersed. What happened to
the child, if there was a child, was not known ; but the
masses liked to believe that the Unkonatas, on dying,
had bequeathed to the child their brains, so that the
child, should he grow to manhood, would possess their
collective consciousness entire. And it was said that
Moura-weit was that child !

Moura-weit liked to foster that thought. True, he
had a great mind ; none could best him in any line of
endeavor. His oratory, his science, abstract and concrete
thought, his knowledge of divers things, his understand-
ing of all that went on in the world, marked him as a
man apart. Nothing that he set himself to do was left
undone, either in art, mechanics, science, or athletics.
And it was always he who did it best.

O N Abrui man has learned more about the brain
than he has on Earth. He has solved the secret of
thought transference from mind to mind. And in a world
that finds it a common thing to know another’s thought,
Moura-weit .surpassed them all. He not only read his
fellow man’s thoughts, his secrets, his desires, he followed
the train of thought of the thinker and knew what his
next move would be ere that man himself knew it. And
no man could close his mind to his penetrating gaze. He
could know what a man separated from him by a wall
was thinking. Consequently he was feared by those who
hated him ; and while many would willingly have done
away with this man of power, they dreaded his prying
brain, knowing that Moura-weit would forestall any
attempt made on his life.

And it was this man alone who knew that there was a
living person in the rocket that came swimming into the
atmospheric belt of Abrui. So it was he who was there-
after to have Dana Gleason in his keeping.

His attention was now focused on the woman. Her
breath was still coming in gasps, due to a slight differ-
ence in the atmosphere of this planet from that of her
own. Soon, however, her breathing became easier as her
lungs adjusted themselves to the change. Moura-weit
studied her strange covering, her coloring, her appearance
her strange mind.

550

AMAZING SIORIES

Dana Gleason knew nothing of mental telepathy,
though she had heard its theory expounded on earth ; she
knew nothing of closing her brain, even had she been
conscious of the fact that Moura-weit was searching out
its nooks and corners. She was at that moment living
over again all that had passed in the last two months.
Many nightmarish dreams swept across and clouded
out the actual memories from time to time, hut the man
knew how to differentiate between the two.

Recurring time and time again, he saw the figure of a
man, a figure that at first had puzzled Moura, for the
com])lexiori of the figure seemed to Moura to be that of a
bronze Gora. Then, as the figure became clearer to him,
he realized that the tall, handsome man was not an in-
habitant of Abrui; that he had neither the squatness of
the Gora nor the broad face and features of the bar-
barians; his eyes, too, were the color of the sky, while
Goran eyes were brown.

Covertly Moura flashed a look at Ubca. Had he seen
anything of this? Did he read Moura-weit’s mind ? But
no ; his eyes were on the quiet figure on the couch, his
thoughts were elsewhere. So Moura kept his own
counsel. He might then have told Ubca that the man he
had found and thought to be a Gora was in truth the
companion traveler of Dana Gleason, hut he said nothing
of that. Had he told him, the train of events might have
turned out differently.

Moura-weit had not as yet shaped his plans. He
realized that he had indeed a find. Doata and Ora
would do him honor when he brought the news of this
voyage from Out of the Void. Science would be for-
warded. And Moura would prosper.

Ubca-tor broke the line of his thoughts. “What planet
could this creature have come from, Moura? They must
have progressed far, to be able to send a vehicle through
Space. And to send a woman!”

“Yes, the planet must be far advanced. Yet it must
be one of the four planets upon which our observatories
have discovered life, one of the four planets that lie
close to the Great Sun. The other four we know to Ire
either too hot or too cold to sustain life. It was a long
journey to make! And it is indeed lucky that we dis-
covered this woman in time. If .she had a companion, as
I believe she had, he must surely have perished in the
flames of the exploding machine. But, it will be a great
day for Ora when we take her thither !”

“Surely you will take her to Doata first?” said the boy.

“Naturally to Carajama first! Are we not Doatans?”

Moura had really been wondering which would be the
best course — to take the woman first to Doata or to Ora.
He knew that by presenting her to the Orans he would
gain favor with the fjeople of Zoada and Loata, who
would appreciate the fact that he had not first given
Doata the honor of greeting the space-traveler. On the
other hand, the advantage it would give him in Doata
was to be considered. Yes, it would be better so. Zoada
and Loata must wait.

T he woman had not as yet regained consciousness.

Moura continued to minister to her from time to
time, and was rewarded to find that the heartbeat was
becoming stronger. A glow was coming into the waxen
.skin; her lips, which seemed to have lieen drained of
blood, were red now. They had only to wait until the
brain was ready to resume the burden of consciousness
once more. Slowly she opened her eyes and glanced

about, breathing the name “Dick” once ; then she slipped
back into her unconscious state.

Moura was again looking into her mind. “Ah,” he
suddenly exclaimed, “she lives again on her own planet :
I see a city, a ship, airplanes, a battle, strange engines. I
see men, men very unlike us on Abrui. Ah, I see, I think
the machine l)y which they shot their rocket into space.”
Ubca sat staring uncomfortably at Moura. It is one
thing to read the mind of the man to whom you are talk-
ing, but another thing to peer into the sleeping brain of
an unconscious being from another world.

“She awakes!”

The voices had disturbed Dana Gleason, for suddenly
she opened her eyes and was staring around the cabin
wildly. “Dick, Dick, where are you? Why do you not
come ?”

Tlien, as her eyes focused upon Moura-weit’s strange
face and stranger eyes, a cry of surprise escaped her.
“My God, where am I ?” she asked. “Who are you, and
what have you done with Richard Dorr ? Oh God — the
heat, the explosion, the fall. ...” Then she covered
her face with her hands.

The Taborans could not understand her words, but
they could read her agitation and understand her emo-
tions. They knew hysteria ; and Moura was not anxious
to have an hysterical woman on his hands. He did not
know that Dana Gleason was not given to hysteria. Had
he the words, he could have spoken and reassured her;
but not having these, he sat quietly by, and a force trans-
ferred itself from his mind to that of the woman. A
calm came over her.

When she looked up again, she was rational. She won-
dered at this feeling that had crept through her. She
knew that all was well. For the first time she saw the
strange appearance of things about her. She saw .she
was no longer in the living-quarters of the rocket. She
was now in another room. Through the sensation of a
gentle vibration she knew that she was in a machine that
was moving. She saw that she was surrounded I)y a
glass wall, and that below lay the darkness of a sleeping
country. She saw that she had been made comfortable
on a couch, and that she was being cared for by these
two men of such strange appearance. She looked down
upon her own person and saw where the khaki of her
trousers and shirt had been scorched, where a sleeve had
been torn, a boot partly burned. She looked more closely
at the man seated opposite her on a low stool. She had a
knowledge of men, and in this one she saw a leader.

Moura-weit, who.se power of telepathy surpassed that
of any of his fellow men, now had the opportunity to
attempt a thing that neither he nor any other had tried
before. Could he project his own thought-images into
the mind of a being of another world ? Could it be done
at all? He knew already that the brain of this woman
differed somewhat from those brains of his own race.
The two main lobes were of different shape and thick-
ness, and their convolutions took a different form.

Leaning forward, he reached for her hands, and by
magnetism of his eyes forced her to look into his own.
She did not remonstrate ; caught by his stare, she looked
back. Moura then attempted to fill her mind with his
thought-images. He began with something she was fa-
miliar with, the rocket.

Dana Gleason knew no emotion when the silver man
took her hands in his. She did recognize that some Ixjnd
existed between them ; for even in her wild dreams her

OUT OF THE VOID

551

subconscious mind had been aware of his searching eyes.
She was without thought, unable to think, as if her mind
had been literally washed clean. Then her thoughts be-
came clouded. She began to recognize that this cloud
was night with stars twinkling.

For a time she tried to fight against the cloud, but it
was mastering her. When she at last gave in to it, she
became aware of a darker spot in the cloud. Gradually
the night passed, and she saw the dark spot taking shaj^e.
It was long and cylindrical, and it was black and ugly
and fiery. It was smoking, it was burning. Now below
the rocket appeared' a landscape, an inhabitable land
bathed in a reddish light. Three times night descended
upon the rocket, and on the third night it was evident
that the rocket was about to fall to the ground. She saw
it fall; she saw its fiery course, the explosions, the
flying debris, her own fall !

She saw Ubca-tor pick her up and carry her to the
flyer. She saw the plane circling the wreck, searching;
and she knew they were searching for another body. None
was found! It showed her the heart of the burning
rocket, flames leaping up fifty feet. Now she saw the
approach of the Gora, and recognized them for bar-
barians. Then the retreat of the plane. With that the
vision vanished. Moura dropped his hands, freed her
eyes.

F or several minutes she did not move. Her eyes
said nothing. She was remembering the last minute
on the rocket before that awful explosion that had torn
her from Richard Dorr’s arms. “We can at least die
together,” said Dick. “He can’t take that away from
us I” Only He had taken Dick’s life and given her hers.
Dick dead I Imix)ssible. Something, a feeling, a voice,
was telling her that he lived. Still, no man could live in
that conflagration she had just seen. Had she really
seen all that happened? Was it all? Could not Dick
have been thrown out just as she had been? Those
brown men, the barbarians — ^perhaps they found Dick?
If only it were so.

She could not cry, tears would not come. A cold
lump lay where her heart had been. She now remem-
bered that this strange man with his stranger eyes had
come into her mind and pictured to her all that had gone
before. What manner of man was this? Where was
she, then ? When she and Dick thought they were about
to die, they had already reached another planet that was
waiting for them. If only they had known, and could
have landed in their waiting plane.

That was over, however; all over. Happiness, it
seemed, was not for her. What was there for her?
Existence on a strange planet, a new life, new interests?
What new interests could she have? Oh, she wanted to
cry, to turn her face to a blank wall. And since she
could not cry, since she could change nothing, there
could be naught for her to do but to accept things as
they came. She sighed deeply, then turned her interest
again on the two men and the chamber in which she lay.

She saw that the walls of the cabin were of glass, and
above her she could hear the lieat of wings. A few yards
from her was set an instrument-board on which were a
series of levers, dials, and strange instruments. A carpet
covered the floor, and there were several low easy chairs
and the couch upon which she was lying. Through the
glass she could see the black shapes of mountains below
and an occasional light shone out. Above was a moon.

a moon that sent out rays of weak light. Myriad stars
glowed brilliantly.

She turned now to Moura-weit. Her eyes asked a
question ; and, understanding, the man formed the word
“Abrui.” She repeated the word, and in turn pointed to
herself and thence out into the dark sky. She pro-
nounced the word “Earth.”

She realized the necessity of learning the language of
the people among whom she had descended. Pointing
to herself again, she next said “Dana Gleason.” Moura
said the name after her, and, pointing to himself and
then to Ubca, gave their respective names. The next
half-hour was spent in pointing to objects about them
and calling them by name. Dana repeated each word.
Taking a small notebook from a pocket, she jotted down
each word, spelling it as it sounded to her ears. The
little book and pencil interested Moura, and he asked to
examine them. Taborans write on sheets of thin metal,
and in writing use a brush and a thick paint. They have
no printing-presses. From the original hand-painted
copy subsequent copies are photographed.

Feeling in her pockets, she now discovered that she
had about a half-dozen packages of cigarettes left, also
several cakes of chocolate. She offered a cake of the
latter to the two men, and they enjoyed the taste. Next
she extracted a cigarette, found that her patent cigarette-
lighter still contained some fuel, and lighted it. She
extended the package of cigarettes to Moura and Ubca.
They each took one.

At the flash of the lighter, both men drew back. They
exclaimed aloud when they saw the woman put fire to
her cigarette and breathe the smoke from her mouth ; for
on Abrui there is no fire ! However, that statement is
somewhat misleading; for instantaneous combustion is
known and understood, and Taborans are familiar with
the fact that the great bright stars are flaming ; they them-
selves, however have no use for fire. In a world that has
radium for fuel, heat and light, it is unnecessary to pro-
duce fire for man’s use.

Therefore it is easy to picture the wonder of the
Taborans to whom fire is merely an accident, at seeing
Dana Gleason deliberately set fire to her little paper tube
and breathe in the smoke. Their wonder was greater
even than that of the first European who saw American
Indians smoking their pipes.

R ather gingerly Moura accepted the lighter.

■ Dana showed him how to light it, and he was care-
ful that the flame did not reach him ; for Abruians know
how painful fire can be, even though they work with an
element that can burn and hurt far more severely. He
managed to light the cigarette, but one mouthful of smoke
was enough, and the woman could only laugh at the
ludicrous face he made. Ubca made no attempt to light
his cigarette but returned it to the Earthling.

She smoked her cigarette with rare enjoyment ; but see-
ing that the smoke of it distressed the two men, she
quickly extinguished it. Moura had taken his cigarette
apart, and he saw that it was made of some sort of dried
leaf. He slipped it into the small pouch he carried
hanging from his girdle. Later he would analyze it and
see what it was. He was glad for the little incident, for
he saw that the laugh had done the woman good, making
her forget for the moment her past experiences and
bringing color to her cheeks.

Ubca arose and went to a small cupboard, whence he

552

AMAZING STORIES

At a sign from the Kirada, a tapestry high on
the wall was drawn aside, revealing a large
plain metal disc. The light was made low,
and the weit was commanded to project the
scene of Dana Gleason's descent upon Abrui
for all to see.

brought out some pellets of highly condensed foodstuffs
containing all the ingredients necessary to the body. A
traveler always carries these instead of being lx)thered
with more bulky supplies.

Dana’s attention was now caught and held by some-
thing outside the plane. To the right of them she had
suddenly become aware of a change taking place in the
landscape. From beyond the irregular shapes of the
mountains a grayness was pervading the sky. As .she
watched the grayness it turned to a watery pink, then to
red. And over the edge of the mountains Tradr, the
satellite sun, began to rise. At first a joy came into her
being. The sun ! The one familiar object that spelled
“home” to her. She had left earth without qualms, joy-
ously, as a traveler leaves familiar scenes with the pros-
^ pect of viewing new ones. And like the same traveler,
she was knowing homesickness for those same homely
familar things.

Yet, as the sun rose higher, she became puzzled. Sol
had never appeared so large and so brilliantly red from
earth! Then he turned a lavenderish pink. What had
happened to him? Here she was many millions of miles
more distant. It couldn’t be possible that he . . . No that

OUT OF THE VOID

553

was not Sol. She stared in wonder, almost in fear.
Her eyes sought Moura’s.

He knew what was passing through her mind. Point-
ing, he showed her Sol high in the sky, it was the sun
she had mistaken for a moon. Then she understood,
and her wonder grew greater as she stared at the strange
sun at which she could gaze directly without blinking.

They were now on the edge of the pretty country of
rolling hills, large forests, wide estates, and serene
meandering rivers. The second sun was now rising high
in the sky. Dana Gleason saw all this with a disinter-
ested eye. With the coming of the sun she had sunk into
an apathy from which she could not arouse herself. The
first excitement of the landing was gone, the strangeness
of the things around her had lost their interest. Her
heart was cold and her eyes dry. The landscape looked
barren, the sun’s bright light weak. She had won love on
a gamble and lost it. She wanted to die, but was living.
Life was giving ber another chance, and she did not
want it now.

Moura now suggested that she lie down and sleep. He
did not like the look that had suddenly come into her
eyes. He wanted her to be fresb for her interview with
the king. By motions he expressed what he wanted, and
without a word of protest and as docile as a child, the
woman acquiesced. Moura recognized the fact that this
woman was going to be as putty in his hands, and he
smiled to himself as he thought of what would come.

L ucky that Ubca-tor could not read his thoughts;

for the youth knew nothing of the brain of Moura-
weit. tie could only admire him, glad to shine in his
reflected glory. Ubca-tor, the son of a minor prince, had
no ambition. From childhood he had been taken by
Moura-weit, and he was happy when that man accepted
him as a companion, though he never was a confidant.
He did not realize the fact that his hero accepted him,
only because of the advantage it would mean to be as-
sociated with a prince and in order to let the masses know
that Moura-weit could pick his followers from the
princely body. And had he known, it is possible that he
would not have remonstrated. He feared, and at the
same time loved, the one he fondly called master, and
gladly he did what the other directed.

Now as he gazed on the youth, Moura-weit saw that
he was staring with intent eyes upon the sleeping woman.
He was attracted by her strange coloring, her red lips,
her distant air. And in the boy’s unguarded mind Moura
read an awakening, a fascination for the stranger being.
Moura chuckled to himself.

The Taborans

S O came Dana Gleason to Doata. The capital lay on
the bank of the Fierutl River that ran down to the
ocean. The city was built, as all Taboran cities
are built, on a promontory. One side was a gentle sloping
hillside that rose a thousand feet, and the other side a
sheer bluff rising straight up from the wide river.

On the cliff’s crest, a space almost a mile and a half
long and half as wide was given over to the palaces of
the Kirada, the royal heir to the throne, together with the
great Council Chambers, the Government Courts, and
the barracks that housed the members of the Royal
Guard.

Below its crest the hill had been cut by terraces, ter-
races that marked the ranking of the people who in-

habited them. The first two terraces were given over
to those of royal blood, the tails (crown prince and
crown princess, and the tors (lesser princes). A wall,
moss-grown and vine-covered, separated these terraces
from the next below. Ten such terraces lay in order, all
joined together by wide flights of stairways, the center
one rising directly up to the palaces on the top.

The last terrace belonged to the rank of the Weitas,
and here dwelt Moura-weit in the home of his fathers.
A high, straight, unclothed wall divided this from the
city below, where dwelt the commoners. Rarely did a
commoner ever climb the steps that led over the wall
separating the lower and upper cities.

Among the commoners were as many classes and
castes as among the nobility, if not more, from the com-
monest laborers to the skilled artisans and the foremen
and superintendents that directed their labors.

As for the houses of the Taborans, none was built
taller than one story, and all were of uniform stone with
glass roofs, and each had a bit of garden surrounding it.
No house in the whole land rivaled that of the Kirada,
nor did any other house rival those occupied by the taiis.
The size and beauty of the home was entirely determined
by the rank of the family to which it belonged. So were
the furnishings that went into it, the food, the clothing,
the fittings, the slaves.

O NE can liken the social system of Tabora to that
of Peru, under the Incas, since all men work for
the state and their worldly goods are meted to them ac-
cording to their standing in the community. And no
man is a slacker. Each is given the work that is best
suited to his temperament ; he is given the right to choose
his vocation and is taught his profession in the state’s
universities.

Nor are the Taborans held by iron-clad rules of class.
Let a man prove himself worthy of a higher position in
life and he is given it gladly. A laborer may become a
superintendent, a mason, an architect, a miner, an
engineer. Even princelings gain a place in the sun only
by their own efforts.

Dana Gleason had awakened from her nap and saw
the strange city stretching below. On the wide plain
surrounding the sloping hill were thousands of small
houses, each set in its own plot of ground with proper
regard for the general symmetry of the city. The glass
roofs shone brightly in the sunlight, glowing like
thousands of jewels. The plane had been hovering over
the city, and it could be seen that its presence was noticed
by the people in the squares below.

It would be well here to describe the Taboran plane,
built as it is along the lines of the one bird of Abrui, the
oc, a waterbird that has no feathers and whose wings are
bat-like. The wings of the plane, like those of the bird,
beat the air ; and both wings and tail are controlled in a
natural bird-like manner. By simply balancing the
machine by a gentle motion of the wings, the plane can
be held in one position, can rise straight up into the
heavens or drop straight to the ground. Ubca had pulled
a lever, and by tilting the wings they now were dropping
gently.

It was the rest hour in the city, when all work is sus-
pended for a fourth of a ro’*’ ; and people were stretch-
ing themselves and chatting together in the sunlight.
Immediately on recognizing the blue of the plane with

* One TO is equivalent to two hours and ten minutes of earth time.

554

AMAZING STORIES

the emblem of two staring eyes on the under side of the
wings which Moura-weit affected, a great halloo came
up from the city to their favorite.

In answer to the salutation, Moura dropped on the
heads of the populace a basketful of artificial flowers
that Ubca had taken from a cupboard earlier, and in the
midst of this shower the plane descended to the terrace
upon which Moura-weit dwelt.

There is no need of describing all that took place in the
next few hours — the visit that Moura-weit made to the
palace to inform the Kirada in person of his find, the
great reception that was given the earthling in the Palace,
to which the flower of all Tabora hurried on summons,
or the garments into which Dana Gleason was put or the
homage that w'as done to her by all.

A small throne had been placed for her beside that
of the Kirada and Kiradaf (queen). The great throne-
room, whose walls were lined by solid slabs cut from
semi-precious stones, was filled to overflowing. Rare
tapestries, exquisite pieces of carving, wonderful plaques
of rare metal hung on the jewel-encrusted walls that
sparkled and glowed. Moura-weit had taken his place
at the foot of the dais, and in a voice that held the
attention of all and with well-chosen words, he described
all that had taken place. At a sign from the Kirada, a
tapestry high on the wall was drawn aside, revealing a
large plain metal disc. The light was made low, and
the weit was commanded to project the scene of Dana
Gleason’s descent upon Abrui for all to see.

The Movie on Abrui

F acing the screen, Moura-weit proceeded to de-
scribe the scenes that had actually taken place, and
before tbe assembly, the same events that Moura-
weit had shown to Dana Gleason earlier were broadcast.
At the same time every house in the land was given
the same vision on the sensitive vision screens. Only a
few men in the realm were able to do what Moura-weit
was doing, and he was an acknowledged master of that
art.

It is in this manner that most of the news of Tabora
is broadcast over the land ; and men are trained for this
work alone. Sometimes it takes several men combining
their efforts to project their thoughts, so that all can
see. Strange as it may seem, Tabora does not broadcast
the voice as we do on Earth. Instead, the actual scenes
are thrown on the screen, and by way of explanation,
words are also sent out in the same manner.

The reception ended after the Kirada had presented
Dana Gleason with a mansion on the terrace of the taiis,
the terrace that heretofore had been occupied only by
the direct descendants of the royal family. To her were
given all its privileges with jewels, fine clothing, and
great riches. To Moura-weit was given the right as her
guardian to dwell in the palace of Dana Gleason.

The Earthling gave thanks in her own tongue. Later
it was arranged that a great teacher was to instruct her
in the language of Tabora.

For many days thereafter Dana Gleason’s reception-
room was filled with callers, men and women who had
been absent from the great assembly in the Court. The
women were anxious to have a glimpse of a woman from
another world, the men were fascinated by her strange
coloring.

Several noblemen also sought the hours when Rieuta-
Dak (Dak-master) was with her teaching her the Ta-
boran tongue. This group of men elected to learn her

language even as she learned theirs, so for every Talwran
word she learned she gave its English equivalent. And
by the time she showed some proficiency in Taboran, her
pupils were almost as proficient in English. Moura-weit
and Ubca-tor were often present during the lessons, but
they did not take part in the little club these men
decided to form. And they gave their club the name
that meant Earth-club, Roata, for by this time they had
discovered that Dana Gleason was from the planet that
was third from the Sun and was called Rui in their
language. It was greatly due to this light-hearted little
gathering that Dana Gleason got back her heart, enjoying
it all as much as they rejoiced at speaking her mother
tongue.

When she could speak the language well enough, she
explained to a small gathering of astronomers the phys-
ical aspects of her planet. The Roata listened to the tales
of her own world. They were anxious to learn its games,
its pastimes; and not wishing to be outdone by their
tutor, they learned to smoke her cigarettes. One Uila-jor,
• W'ho had vast plantations, found that a certain weed that
had theretofore been considered worthless made a very
fine smoking-leaf. He set up drying-rooms and put a
number of slaves to work growing the leaf and making
the cigarettes so that the Roata would not be without their
smokes ; for Dana’s small supply was quickly depleted.

Now that her knowledge of the language was quite
good, the time came for her to visit Ora. Several of its
scientists had already called upon her and were anxiously
awaiting the day when she could converse easily with
them. The Roata insisted upon traveling with her.
Moura-weit also accompanied her, and Ubca-tor, together
with a brother of his, Ta[X)r-tor.

On the island of Ora they were given a palace, yet
there was none of the pomp that marked her welcome
at the Kirada’s court. Here everyone met on equal
footing. In the great auditorium of the Hall of Knowl-
edge Dana Gleason faced the assembly of great minds
and told the facts of her journey through Space. Ques-
tions were asked, and she quietly answered them. She
told all she could about her home planet. Her early
training under some of the greatest minds of earth stood
her well, and day after day she stood upon the ro.strum
telling of earth, its peoples, its thinkers, its astronomers,
its theories.

Women asked her of the social life there, of women’s
accompli.shments, of child-welfare. Soldiers questioned
her concerning wars on earth. Statesmen wanted to
know about politics, about economics, about statecraft,
diplomacy, and she had to answer numberless questions
asked by members of all professions.

Then Dana Gleason commenced asking. She learned
all there was to know about the Taboran understanding
of mechanics; of airplanes, of radio, of astronomy, and
other sciences; and something of the history of the
country. She learned that man’s development here was
hardly more than upon earth, and only because of his
possession of that one element in plenty (that is upon
earth a rarity) has the Abruian progressed further than
the Earthling.

The Orans were anxious to aid her in building a
radio such as she described and which was unknown
upon their planet at that time. Yet they doubted the
possibility of electric vibrations carrying across the great
Void. She was impatient to begin immediately; but
Moura-weit wished her to continue her travels, for he
had other plans.

OUT OF THE VOID

555

Already Moura-weit had discovered tliat Dana Gleason
was invaluable to him. Through her he had risen from
the terrace of the Weita to that of the Taiis, and already
he was hearing himself addressed as Moura-tor and men
were listening to his word quietly without recourse oh
his part to oratory.

A World Tour

W ITH their escort of thirty planes, ten of which
contained members of the Kirada’s personal
guard, and ten the female guards that had been
presented to Dana Gleason, and whose planes now carried
her insignia of a rocket emblazoned on the wings, the
party headed for Zoata. The trip across the ocean was
one of interest. There were the long low ships that ply
across the waters carrying heavy freight from country
to country. These ships could be compared to the
“whalebacks” of the American Great Lakes. They drew
a hundred feet of water and lay low in the water, with
their hatches covered. The crew lived in a small house
at the bow. The ships were run by means of a simple
radium motor and traveled at a speed of 62 cu, as
Taborans figure speed, about 150 miles per hour.

Islands dotted the ocean, and great flocks of the single
bird of Abrui, the oc, flew about or settled either on
the water or on the islands. A large fleet of airships,
shaped like balloons, and of great size, passed them on
their way to Loata, bearing lighter freight than the ships
on the water.

At Treij, capital of Zoata, Dana Gleason was received
with the same splendor as in Carajama. At Oiugut,
capital of Loata, it was the same. The entire tour took
over five months or duits ; for at each stop they lingered
many days. At both capitals and at Ora Dana Gleason
made it a point to meet women, to learn what she could
about them, and to understand them. She remembered
her promise, made aboard the Rocket, to accept her right-
ful heritage as a woman, and to do what she could to
aid her sex. It was as if she had era.sed her past life
from her mind. Both Zoata and Loata presented her
with a mansion and placed slaves and wealth at her
disposal.

In the meantime Moura-weit, now known as Moura-
tor, was doing what he could to insinuate himself into
the esteem of the people of both these nations. His
name had gone abroad among the masses, and they ac-
claimed him everywhere. He had the chance to prove
himself a great man. and the Kiradas of both Zoata
and Loata granted him private audiences. Statesmen
I>aid him homage, accepting his aid in weighty questions.

Back in Carajama, for they returned there with a great
welcome, Dana Gleason settled down in her palace. The
Kiradaf Moule was a kindly woman and sought her
companion.ship, and the royal daughters were often in
her atoll. Dana Gleason found that the lot of the Taboran
woman was not an unhappy one. Women, as well as
men, did their part in the nation’s work, and wives were
as well acquainted with statescraft as were their hus-
bands. Nor were they denied the right to do any manner
of work they desired. To understand more of the social
system of Tabora, it is best that something of it be
explained.

Of amusements there are many varieties, men and
women taking part in everything alike. There are singers,
poets, and actors, and most of the arts are broadcast into
every home. There are holidays on which games are
played by both amateurs and professionals, contests of

strength, and swimming. Men have clubs wherein they
may gather, and there are the same for women. The
state thinks well of its people, and knows how to keep
them content.

I N her home Dana Gleason had a gymnasium set up ;

for she had no intention of allowing herself to grow
weak and flabby. There she kept in trim, running, fenc-
ing, and boxing, not to mention the swims in her own
pools. The Roata still courted her favor, and they prac-
ticed with her in her gymnasium, teaching her their games
while she taught hers.

She vi.sitcd about with the Roata. Uilajor and Yidve-
tor both invited her to their plantations, and she spent
a great deal of time at them. The ])lantations were
conducted with military discijfline. There were super-
intendents, overseers, foremen, laborers, and slaves, not
to mention the large company of herdsmen who watched
the great flocks of muti.

Abrui has but a few animals. In the mountains are
several species of wild animals, which the Taborans
hunt, not for their flesh but for their beautiful hides.
A beast of burden is unknown ; the only domestic animal
in addition to the muti is the ayop, a small long-haired
creature somewhat like a cat, which the women favor.
In the mountains traveling is diflicult. Slaves are bred
as carriers, and can bear twice their own weight on their
broad shoulders. The overseers use these men to bear
them rapidly from field to field, and on hunts these
golden men carry the hunter over the rugged [tasses.

On returning from one of these jaunts into the coun-
try, Dana Gleason arrived at Carajama to find that
Moura-tor was now a great man. Among the three na-
tions of Tabora a dispute eoncerning a tax on imports
and exports had been brewing for a long time, and tlie
indications were that if the dispute were not settled war
would surely take place. None other than Moura-tor
himself had been sent as special envoy to straighten
matters out. He was highly successful, and the three
nations of Tabora were knitted more closely together
than ever before. Moura-tor was acclaimed throughout
the cities, and, whereas men had earlier whispered
“Moura-Ur-tor” (over-prince), now they cried it aloud
in the streets.

Next had come whispers from the borders of Tabora
that Gora was arising out of the slough into which she
had been cast centuries before. The raids Of the Gora
into the fertile plains, where were great flocks of muti,
were becoming more daring, more defiant. Consequently
Moura-tor went to Hierpowi, the capital of Kirada Yal,
the strongest of all the chieftains of the Gor, who lived
in large tribes.

Moura returned from Gora somewhat disquieted. The
Kirada Yal had received him coldly. Gora was hostile,
but Yal agreed to see what he could do about the raids
of his people. Gora felt no love for Tabora, her de-
spoiler. She hoped one day to win back her lands on
the shores of Sehti. The men of Gora were numerous
now, and one day they would swarm over Tabora. No,
not now, but sometime later. Perhaps in centuries to
come. So much had Yal spoken, but Moura-tor the
wily had seen something else in the mind of the Goran
king.

A nd what he saw greatly disconcerted him. Again
he saw the strange image of the man from Earth,
the same that he had seen a number of times pictured in

„56

AMAZING STORIES

the brain of Dana Gleason, the image of Richard Dorr.
He knew him immediately, the man with hair and skin
almost like that of the Gora, but whose shorter stature
and blue eyes were dififerent.

This knowledge had set him thinking. Gora then had
a champion. Hence the reason for the new fearlessness,
the new hatred. He knew then that Yal lied when he
spoke of succor for his people in centuries to come. The
plan was almost ripe!

Not allowing the man to know what he had seen in
his brain, he went on to remind Yal how futile it would
be for Gora to war upon Tabora. Gora knew little about
radium, hut 'I'abora knew. She knew how to disin-
tegrate a man’s body, how to dissolve any diemical body.
Gora would have no chance. Instead for Gora there was
the friendship of Tabora, a brotherhood of the two great
races.

Yal listened, but had nothing to say. He kept his own
counsel. He reflected that Gora had not had the friend-
ship of Tabora for over a thousand years, nor did she
want it now.

Rumors of War

M OURA returned to Tabora with little to say. He
advised that a larger contingent of soldiers be
sent to the border garrisons and that watch be
kept upon Gora. However, he intimated that friendship
with the Gorans would be good policy. Tabora could gain
much by trading with that nation, for it was known that
Gora had fine mines, where much metal and radium could
be obtained in exchange for a few of the luxuries that
Tabora possessed.

The Councils decided to take up the question, but even
with Moura-tor’s untiring efforts, it took quite a time to
make any sort of decision. Moura made a number of
secret trips to Gora, but nothing much came of them.
Behind Yal he recognized the now hated figure of Richard
Dorr, though that man was never present at any of the
conferences.

Moura-tor had no doubt that Richard Dorr was un-
aware that Dana Gleason was still alive. Between the
two races there was practically no intercourse, and the
man evidently was left in ignorance of the fact that the
woman he loved was but a few thousand miles away from
him. Moura wondered of what value it would be to
acquaint Dorr with the fact.

And yet Moura-tor had other plans for Dana Gleason.
Moura-tor, although in his fortieth year, had never taken
a mate. There were but few bachelors among the Yuika,
to which class he belonged ; but the issue had never been
forced in his case, and he preferred a life of celibacy.
However, it is needless to remark that Moura-tor was
considering taking the Earthling to mate. She looked
upon the man as a friend, and he allowed her to consider
him as such. His own feeling toward her he did not
trouble to define. He knew that it would be well for
Moura-tor to wed with the Earthling. The people would
be overjoyed at such a match, and it would give him
fame. So he was not anxious for Dana Gleason to
learn that Richard Dorr still lived.

For many months now Dana Gleason had been living
at Ora. With the aid of the Orans she had built her giant
radio, but there had been innumerable failures. Earth
could not hear her appeals. Life now lost all taste for
her. All interest in her new existence was gone, as she
realized that she was in truth separated for all time from
earth. Yet she tried again and again, building new radios.

changing and improving, it seemed an impossible task.

However, the Orans had made use of her knowledge,
and now her name was to go down in history, not only
as the Space-traveler, but as the inventor of the radio
by which Tabora could now transmit the voice through
the air. She was a sacred person to Tabora, and where-
ever she went people proclaimed her name ; letters and
gifts were showered upon her by a grateful people, and
nothing that she could ask for was denied.

M en were now seeking her out as they never had
before. She could have married any man she
wanted, but Dana Gleason had no thought for marriage.
Her days were quite full, but her nights overflowed with
the thought of Richard Dorr. For hours, before sleep
claimed her, she lived over again the short life they had
had upon the rocket, and waited only for the time when
she might die and go seeking him wherever he might
be. She had taken Moura-tor’s word that he had died
in the flames of the rocket. She would have made a
pilgrimage to the ruins, but Moura explained that it
would be impossible because of the antagonism of the
Gora to the Tabora. Still it was hard to think the man
dead, he who was so full of vitality, he who had been so
richly endowed with the essence of life.

M OURA-TOR had been her only confidant. He had
<lrawn from her the story of her love for Richard
Dorr, and he falsely gave her comfort. Wisely he kept
from her his plans regarding herself.

However, on the evening of his return from Gora he
faced her. He had made a decision. First he would
make her his wife. After that he would see that Richard
Dorr learned that she was living. How easy, then, to
trap the fellow and do away with him, and Dana Gleason
never to know ! Thereafter with Dorr dead, Gora would
be his. Why should not the Ur-tor of Tabora also be-
come the Ur-tor of Gora, which would mean Ur-tor of
all Abrui?

He told Dana Gleason of his mission to Gora, also
that he had made an attempt to learn if the body of
Dorr had ever been found, but the Gora knew nothing
of him, and therefore he was conclusively dead ! He
knew that to bring to life the memories of the man would
hurt his cause ; and yet it was better that the woman no
longer possess any hopes.

I^na Gleason heard him in silence. True, her heart
warmed to the man who had her interests at heart, he
who had saved her from the savagery of the barbarians.
To her, he was her only true friend. The Roata was no
more, for each man of it in turn had asked her either to
become his mate or, at least, his amanfe. To each she
had given the same answer and her reason, and one by
one the Roatans had drifted away. Only three remained,
and they secretly were building for her a vehicle, which,
they hoped, could make the trip to Earth and return.
They were Uila-jor, Rexz-tor and Heipa-tor.

Now Moura-tor approached Dana Gleason with the
entreaty that she become his mate, to share his triumphs.
She looked up wearily. “Even you, Moura ?’’ she asked,
and smiled.

Moura hurried to protest that he loved her, that he
wanted to give her happiness. He wanted to be a sub-
stitute for the love she had lost.

She smiled sadly at that. “Can artificial light replace
the sun, Moura ; can an artificial flower replace the real ?”
He smiled quizzically. “On Abrui we do substitute

OUT OF THE VOID

557

the sun so well that the substitute outshines it, and surely
our artificial flowers are beautiful.” And he touched an
exquisite jewel she wore at her girdle, that had been
cut in tbe semblance of a flower.

“True enough ; but take away the sun, and you could
not light up your entire planet any more than you can
give a scent to this jewel.”

He laughed, realizing he was bested, but he was not
done. “Dana Gleason,” he said, “I offer you my love,
but you disdain it. Enough ! Yet we are not finished
there. Doata demands that the Earthling take a mate 1
We have no monks or nuns, which you speak of having
on Earth. All our people do their duty for the state 1”

“I am not of Doata, Moura-tor. How can that rule
have anything to do with me?”

"You are one of us now, Dana Gleason, and Tabora is
anxious that the name of Dana Gleason continue on down
into history ! She wants one of your name always in
her annals that she may venerate you even after you are
no more!”

Dana shrugged her shoulders. “I regret that this is
impossible. I am the last of my line either here or upon
Earth, and it must continue so. No. Moura-tor, go to
your Kirada and tell him that Dana Gleason does not
like such an arrangement!”

The man laughed an ugly laugh now, that brought
surprise to the Earthling’s eyes. “We shall see. I mu.st
go now, for I still have some matters on hand to attend
to before I retire. I bid you good-night.” And he was
gone.

A Friend in Need

F or some moments Dana Gleason sat where he had
left her. She became aware of a slender little
golden-skinned slave-girl who had crept to her
side. She was Dure, Dana’s personal slave, a girl to
whom she had become attached. Dure was just her own
height, and Dana Gleason often thought she saw in her
features a resemblance to herself.

"My mistress, you are-sad to-night?” she asked softly.
“Sadder than you usually are when night falls.”

Dana nodded. She had told Dure something of the
love she had lost, for Dure knew of her sleepless nights.
She told her now that she had learned that he was really
dead.

"I heard much of what this Moura-weit (the .slaves
of Carajama had no love for Moura and never deigned
to call him by his new title) had to say to you. He is an
ambitious man, my mistress, and he seems always to get
what he desires. Beware of him !”

Dana Gleason had nothing to say. She cared not at
all for the ambitions of the man. She was sadder now
than ever before, with the news that her lover was truly
dead. Dure, seeing that she was occupied with her own
thoughts, turned away, and Dana got to her feet. She
strolled out into the garden.

Night had settled now. The distant sun was lighting
Gora, and in the sky only the brilliant stars were show-
ing. A few glowing lights were evidence that some of
her neighbors had not yet retired, but their lights did not
penetrate into the thicket of shrubberies that surrounded
her favorite nook and formed a bower over a stone bench.

Looking into the sky she tried to distinguish the planet
earth in the firmament, but she knew that earth’s gleam
was not strong enough to give much light at this great
distance. Only with strong telescopes could it be seen
close to the sun. Nor were any of the constellations she

had known from earth visible here, although the distant
stars shone more brightly because of the fact that Abrui
is many millions of miles nearer them than is earth.

Moura’s words had caused her some disquietude, and
she could not shake off the vague doubts and restlessness
that had crept over her. She knew that some big issue
was at hand, and she must be careful to see that she
was not forced into something she did not wish.

Repelling these thoughts, she allowed her memories
to dwell again on Richard Dorr. Strange that Moura’s
words had not seemed to ring true and Richard Dorr
seemed very close to-night.

Suddenly she became aware that she was not alone.
A tall slender figure was coming toward her ? Could it be
he? Could the dead come to claim her? But no, she
quickly recognized the voice of Ubca-tor, who so often
visited her and sat mooning on her chairs.

“Dana Gleason,” he murmured, “I prayed that you
would be here.”

“And why should Ubca-tor pray for such a thing? Is
it not strange for you to be calling at such a late hour?”

“Not strange, for I know it is your custom to come
here always at this hour.”

“Then you have been keeping me under surveillance?”

“Only the surveillance of love, Dana Gleason. Ah,
how many hours I have spent watching you, always
watching.”

“You, too, Ubca? Must every man in the Kirada’s
court offer me the same thing — love? Is it not answer
enough that I refuse each one?”

A h, Dana Gleason, you mistake me, for though I
do love you, I come not to ask for love in return.
I come only to sit and bask in the warmth of your pres-
ence. Send me not away, for I would be a slave to you —
anything, that I might be near you.”

A low laugh escaped Dana Gleason’s throat. Too many
had asked her for the same thing of late, and now it
was this callow youth. She was about to say something
caustic to him when he spoke again.

“You sit and watch the stars each night. Do you then
know an old legend that has been handed down from
the days when our race believed in godlike beings?”

She admitted she did not.

"It is a pretty legend. It tells us that the stars are
the eyes of lovers who have died and left their loved
ones here on Abrui, and they, with a lover’s ardent gaze,
are seeking the one they left behind. When they find
that one, they then turn their glowing eyes upon all who
dare to love the one of their heart and pierce them through
and through with the gleam from their eyes, so that
the presumptuous one becomes mad for evermore 1
“Ah, Dana Gleason, were I only a star to make raving
maniacs of all who would dare to love you.”

“That is a pretty story, Ubca, but you forget in your
ardor to ask if perhaps there is not one who has prece-
dence over you. Perhaps it is one who loved and died,
who looks to find me, only to stab you through and
through so that you might become mad.”

“You mean, then, that there is another? It is not
Moura-tor to whom you pro])ose to give yourself ? Many
nights I have lain in fear that this might be the truth!
For though I realize how young and foolish I am to pre-
sume to love you, I should hate to see you favor Moura-
tor, who seeks you only through his love of ambition.

“Many years I have loved Moura-tor, but of late I
have grown to hate him. Did I know that he truly loved

558

AMAZING STORIES

you, I should be satisfied, but now 1 know that Moura-tor
loves no one but himself 1 Promise then that you will
never mate with him, and if ever you need help, you can
call on one who holds you in reverence!”

As he spoke, Dana Gleason’s impression of the youth
changed. She knew now that here was a true friend, and
she respected him now in his attitude toward her. She
told him of Richard Dorr, and promised him solemnly
enough that she would never marry Moura-tor.

As she spoke, Uhca-tor was remembering something
ekse. He remembered the night when they had dis-
covered her limp form. And he also remembered the
body of the man he took for a Gora. Excitedly he asked
that she describe Richard Dorr for him. She did.
Then, in a voice that shook, he told her what had
transpired.

“The Gora found him. I know he was living. They
must have taken him for their own, and possibly he is
with them now!”

A GREAT silence fell upon her. Then she was right !

Richard Dorr lived 1 Quickly she repeated all that
Moura-tor had told her. Ubca was convinced that
Moura had lied. “Something is behind all this, Dana
Gleason. It would be well to discover what we can!
Wait ... I will go to Gora. I know their language ; I
can disguise myself as one of them. I will seek, and per-
haps I shall find Richard Dorr for you 1”

“Go then ! and I will go with you. I too can disguise
myself.”

“No, no; your absence will arouse comment. Moura
will know then. If I go alone he will not even miss me,
nor care. I must not see him ; for then he will read what
goes on in my mind. And you must try to keep him
from reading your thoughts, though few can stand
against him.”

“Hurry then, and may God be with you 1”

“I like this God of yours, Dana Gleason. We of
Tabora have no God ; but if there is really such a spirit,
let him look after you while I’m gone!”

And the boy left on his self-imposed mission. A new
hope had come into Dana Gleason’s heart. Did Dick hut
live ! She was praying now to the God he had taught her
to love. Now let Moura-tor attempt to win his case. He
could never accomplish his purpose.

To make this more certain, Dana Gleason, with a
company of her guardswomen and Dure, her slave girl,
embarked for Ora, where she knew she would be safe
from Moura-tor. Once before she had run away to es-
cape a man, Howard Courtland.

Moura realized that his purpose was thwarted for the
time being, and though he sought Dana out at Ora. she
laughed at him, taking care to keep her mind a blank
so that the man could not read what hopes were there.
She succeeded, and Moura returned to Doata none the
wiser. A duit passed before Ubca returned. He came
to Ora.

“It is true, Dana Gleason. Richard Dorr lives 1”

A cry escaped her lips, and she sank into a faint.
Frantically Dure and Ubca hastened to re-store her. She
revived, feeling embarrassed at her weakness. She de-
manded more news from Ubca, her heart singing within
her bosom.

Ubca’s eyes were mirrored with pain. He had learned
a lot in Gora, and he was worried. He had diseovered
that Gora intended to make war upon Tabora, and that

Richard Dorr was behind the movement. Still he was
certain that Gora eould not win, but there would be
bloodshed. And he had not seen Richard Dorr in Gora
because at the present time he was in Tabora!

“I think,” said Ubca slowly, “I can find him for you,
Dana Gleason, but to do so and not turn him over to my
people would be criminal ; for, without his leadership,
Gora would not consider war against the Uriem (the
death-ray) of Tabora.”

Dana was e.xultant when she learned that Dick was in
Tabora, closer than before. She decided to return to
Carajama immediately. She was certain that Dick
would hear her name and come seeking her. “It is well,”
she told Ubca, “that you do no more. Richard Dorr will
come to me. Then I will persuade him to give U)) his
attempt to bring the two races to war. Trust me, 1 will
do all I can to avert it. Come, let us return to Carajama.
But first we must let it be known throughout Tabora
that Dana Gleason returns to Carajama, so that he will
be sure to hear my name and know where to find me.”

“I will attend to that,” Ubca agreed.

In Carajama, Dana Gleason had a royal welcome.
That night her palace was filled to overflowing with
people of the court. She was happy, happier than she
had been since her coming to Abrui. Her eyes glowed,
and there was fresh color under her skin. Men did her
homage that night, and the women were suddenly
jealous. Moura-tor was absent, being out of the city
that evening.

The Great Plan

A fter the last guest had gone, Dana Gleason
stood peering into the garden, anxious to make
sure that her nook in the shrubberies had not
been sought by anyone else. Dure came to her side.
“My mistress,” she whispered, “I have news of Him!”

“Him” meant but one person. She asked Dure for
her news. “Your Richard Dorr is in the city now! He
is here on a secret mission. His dealings are with the
people of Moata alone. Mistress, he promises us
freedom!”

“What do you mean ?”

“It is a wonderful plan 1 A plan by which we are to
rise against our master (her voice was very low now)
and join ourselves with our ancient ally the Gora. This
Richard Dorr is a great person, mistress. The golden
people already love him as they hate the Tabora. You
have been kind to your slaves, and they are anxious to
return your kindness.

“To-night Richard Dorr will seek you out — ^in the
bower 1”

Dure’s words had brought tears to Dana’s eyes, and
now, without a word, she hurried out into the garden.
Richard was waiting for her in the bower and she rushed
to his arms. It was Dick, but a Dick transformed. His
skin and hair were now as silvery as any Taboran’s, only
his blue eyes were the same. For some time neither
spoke, content only in each other’s nearness. Then they
told each other the story of their experiences since their
arrival on Abrui. Dorr had been picked up by tbe Gora
more dead than alive. Thinking him one of their own,
they revived him. On discovering that he had come out
of the rocket, they would have killed him. But he had
been taken to Kirada Yal for judgment. Yal saw in
the Earthling the answer to a prophecy made centuries
before — that there would come a stranger man, one who

OUT OF THE VOID

559

was like themselves yet unlike them, who would come
wearing strange clothing, and with strange words on his
lips, who would lead Gora back to the lands, of which she
had been deprived. So Richard Dorr was acclaimed
to be the promised savior for whom they had been
waiting.

‘‘Their plight is pitiful, my dear. They eke a mere
pittance from a barren soil; they are always hungry,
and have little to cover themselves with; and the Tabora
kills them when they come to the borders to steal enough
to feed their babies. So I have sworn to free them
from this awful bondage! Nor are they the barbarians
the Tabora makes them out to be. They were civilized
centuries before the Tabora. But in their struggle for
existence they have no time to give to science; hence
they are fast deteriorating into savagery.”

‘‘But, Dick, you can never fight against the Tabora.
They have superior weapons, better brains !”

‘‘No, you are wrong,.Dana Gleason I True, they have
a better weapon, but I have discovered only today the
secret that will make its power nil ; and they have only
this one weapon I They have not been at war for cen-
turies, and I have just come out of a war. Remember I
was an engineer during the war on earth, and made it
a point then to study artillery, too. No, Gora will win.”

“Do you realize what you are doing, Dick, in bring-
ing war to this planet ? Have you and I not had enough
war ?”

“That is not the question now. If there is no war
now, there will be one later. And not until there is
bloodshed, can Gora have the comfort and ease of which
she has been despoiled.

“Oh, yes, there is a possibility of trade being estab-
lished between the two races, but believe me, it will be
Tabora who will get the best of the bargain. A diplomat
by the name of Moura-tor came to Kirada Yal with
promises. What are promises? Pieces of paper, trea-
ties, Bah 1

“Naturally, I have thought all this over carefully. I
do not like the matter of throwing this planet into
warfare, but only through war can justice be done. Gora
wants her place in the sun, facing the Sehti ocean. She
and Moata will have that before I am done!

“Surely you, Dana Gleason, can not countenance one
strong race lording it over another. True, the Tabora
has culture, a fine social order, great learning ; but why
must she have it alone? Why should not these other
two races share and share alike ? I have already been to
Ora, where I was received kindly. The great minds
there agree that I am right, that Tabora, Moata, and
Gora should live peaceably side by side! Can you say
differently ?”

H er silence was her answer. Then she told him of
what Ubca-tor had done, the danger that Richard
Dorr now had to guard against in Carajama. He
laughed aside her fears. “They will do nothing to me;
and were they to capture me, Dana, I should not be a
prisoner long. Moata will stand by me as one man!”
He gathered her in his arms again.

“My work will be finished here in another day, and
I shall return to Gora directly. Before I plunge Abrui
into war, Tabora will be advised, but I am certain she
will not agree to terms. Then it will be war, a war that
• will not last more than a day or two ! Then, my sweet-
heart, I will return for you.”

“You will return for me . . .? What do you mean,
Dick Dorr? You don’t think that you are going back
to Gora without me?”

“How can I take you back with me, Dana? It’s a
hard road back, and Gora offers you none of the com-
fort you have here. No, you must wait !”

The woman stared in wonder. “You are talking that
way to me, Richard Dorr?” she demanded. “What do
you think I have degenerated into? Have you forgotten
who I am? Do you think that Dana Gleason has be-
come a weakling? Why do you talk to me of comfort,
of fearing a hard journey?”

The man smiled. “I see you have not changed, Dana,
but all the same I do not want you to suffer any more
hardships — besides. . . .”

“Besides what?”

“Well, my mission is a secret one, even though your
Ubca-tor discovered me. Were I captured, I should be
killed as a spy. And to take you back with me would
most surely raise a hue and cry.”

“And you think I can not plan as well as you?” She
laughed softly. “No, Dick, we were separated once. I
won’t allow it to happen again ! I have a slave girl who
is my height, resembles me somewhat, and it will be
easy, I am sure, to disguise her as myself, announce that
I am returning to Ora, and then let her take my place.
Several days will then elapse before the deception is
discovered, and by then they will not know where to look
for me.”

“Good, then. That is settled. How much easier my
work will be with you by my side !”

The hours of night passed swiftly. Soft tendrils of
light aroused them to the fact that Tradr was rising.
They had one more caress. “We shall leave two nights
hence ! I will come again to-morrow night. Wait for
me, my darling !” And he was gone. Slipping out of the
garden, he appeared with the early risers as he descended
to the lower city.

Plots and Counterplots

D ure was waiting for Dana. She had fallen
asleep on the floor, but she awakened as she
heard the light, happy step of her mistress. She
insisted that the woman lie down for several hours of
sleep. She awoke later in a blithesome mood. With a
smile she received Moura-tor, who had only just returned
to Carajama.

“I have only just heard that you had come back from
Ora, Dana Gleason. Am I to take your return to mean
that you have accepted me? You will go to court to
register today your decision to marry me?”

At his words, her happiness departed. She had for-
gotten Moura’s plans for her in her own joy of finding
Richard Dorr. She must somehow stall Moura along
until she was ready to depart with Richard Dorr. She
was thinking this when she realized that she allowed her
thoughts to escape her. In terror she looked into
Moura’s eyes, and saw that he had indeed read what had
passed through her mind. For the first time she saw the
real man behind those cold glittering eyes. A short
laugh escaped him.

“So you thought to defeat Moura-tor, eh?” He
laughed again. “Yes, I know your lover Richard Dorr
is in Carajama. I, myself, have just returned from
Gora. Here,” and he held forth a metal scroll, “is a
treaty I have just drawn up with Kirada Yal.

560

AMAZING STORIES

“For providing Gora with foodstuffs, clothing, and
whatever necessities and luxuries she will demand, Gora
in turn will permit our miners to take out precious
metals from her unused mines. Airships will hence-
forth fly between Tahora and Gora. Educators, archi-
tects, and various workers will go into Gora to aid her
in building up her country. Agriculturalists will study
conditions there and do what they can to revive her bar-
ren soil. Yes, a brotherhood shall he established. And
all that, my dear Dana Gleason, is the work of the man
you shall mate — Moura-Ur-tor!”

H e allowed her to gather the full Import of his words,
then he continued: “And as for Richard Dorr
... I also have a note signed by the Kirada that the
Earthling is a renegade, a man who ruthlessly induced the
Kirada to consider warring upon Tahora, deluding him
into thinking that he eotild heat Tahora. I already have
men searching for this Richard Dorr, and he shall be
killed as a conspirator!”

Datia Gleason from the first had doubted Moura’s
word, as she had learned from exiierience to doubt
him; hut she could not submit to hear the last, for she
knew that Moura meant what he was saying.

“Moura,” she cried, “you wouldn’t dare to do that!”
He smiled. “Moura-LJr-tor,” he said proudly, “dares
whatever he wishes to dare, Dana Gleason. He knows
not the word. No !”

“But, Moura, you have been my friend. Won’t you
be my friend again? Won’t you save Richard Dorr
for me? You have been my confidant. I have told you
everything. Surely you would not be as cruel as to kill
the man I love?”

“Perhaps I wouldn’t, Dana Gleason — for a consid-
eration.”

She understood his implication as she muttered, “Are
men the same the universe over?”

“Yes, I sadly fear that they are. Well, is it to he your
lover’s death or will you be my wife? Speak up, I can-
not be kept waiting!”

A sob escaped her throat.- “All right, Moura-Ur-
tor ., . they are right . . . you always have your own
way. Come, I shall go with you immediately.”

“Good.”

Without another word he led her out, up the stairway
to the Corona of Carajama, and into a small office in
one of the government buildings. Here, before a magis-
trate, Dana Gleason swore she was ready to take Moura-
Ur-tor to mate.

“It shall be to-morrow night,” was Moura’s words
when he left Dana Gleason. She sat in her atoll with
folded hands and downcast eye, while at Moura’s com-
mand her slave-women were busy getting materials ready
to fit her into her wedding dress.

Her first visitor that day was Ubca-tor, who had al-
ready heard the news. She confessed to him all that
had happened. “By your God, Dana Gleason, if I,
my.self, have to murder the man who so presumptuously
calls himself Ur-tor, I will do so!”

“Hear? The people are rejoicing over the news of
the new treaty signed by Kirada Yal, and the news that
you are to be wed to Moura. I won’t have it ! I won’t 1”
“Who says he won’t?” the voice was that of Moura-
Ur-tor. “Ah, it is you, my erstwhile friend.” And
reaching out he gave the tor a cuff that sent him reeling.
Dana Gleason was on her feet, her eyes blazing.

“You beast,” she muttered between closed teeth. “Be
gone. I don’t care to .see you until to-morrow night,
and then perhaps no more. For,” .she added turning to
the youth who had slowly crawled to his feet, “I will
declare myself the mate of this man, but henceforth he
will have to seek me in Ora!” And again to Moura.
“Go, now, go!”

Surprised by the ire he had aroused in the woman, he
departed. He laughed to himself when he thought of
her threat. She was not done with Moura-Ur-tor yet!

A Lonely Tryst

T hat night Richard Dorr waited hours in the
Ixiwer for Dana Gleason. He did not know that
after Moura had left Dana Gleason fell into a
dead swoon from which the slave-women could not
arouse her. She lay as if dead, and only by holding a
glass over her face were the women able to see that .she
breathed. Ubca-tor had carried her to a couch, know-
ing that Moura was the cause of her condition. He had
seen him practice the same thing upon slaves.

Dorr had heard the proclamations that day concern-
ing the treaty with Gora, also the one that Moura-Ur-
tor and Dana Gleason had avowed their betrothal that
day. Of the treaty he had been aware, advising Kirada
Yal, on leaving Gora, to accept any terms that the am-
bassador from Tabora might present to him; but he
could not account for the second announcement. Nor
for the intended ceremony the following night. Possibly
Dana Gleason w'as wisely playing for time. Yet he
could not understand why she did not appear at their
trysting place.

Suddenly his heart quickened. Coming toward him
was the slender form of Dana Gleason. Only it was
not Dana. It was Dure, her slave girl. Breathlessly
the girl hastened to tell him all that had ha])pened. She
had heard the words that Moura had spoken to Dana
Gleason, heard him force her to mate him, else to have
her lover die, and she told him what state she was in
now.

Dorr swore under his breath. Then he recalled that
Dana had spoken of a slave girl who resembled her. This
then was the girl. He asked her if she thought she
could disguise herself as Dana Gleason, and quickly out-
lined his plan ; for he knew that all the slaves of Tabora
were with him and anxious to do his bidding.

“Do you love your mistress enough,” he asked, “to
die for her, perhaps?”

“Yes, I love Dana Gleason and Richard Dorr enough.
And in dying, I can be happy in knowing that you two
are saving my people — and mayhap I shall not die” ;
and she laughed. “No, I do not fear to pit my wits
against those of Moura-Ur-tor.”

“Is anyone with her now?”

“Only the slave-women and Ubca-tor, who swears
that Moura-weit (curse his name) shall never have
her. It was through his love for Dana Gleason that
Ubca-tor went into Gora to discover if you lived.”

“One can be brave for love; a pity that he loves one
who is not for him. However, I should be afraid to
trust him. I must not be captured.”

“I will see if I can send the tor away. Wait here
until I return. . . .”

She was back shortly and motioned for t’ne Earthling
to approach the house. He found Dana supine upon the
couch, her face white and drawn, eyes closed ; she

OUT OF THE VOID

561

scarcely breathing. He tried such methods as he knew
earthly hypnotists to use, slapping her cheeks gently,
snai)ping his fingers and breathing in her face, but to no
avail. He could not arouse her.

No one else was about. Dure had sent the other
slaves to their quarters, for as her mistress’ favorite,
she ruled them all. She hurried away to return with
a box containing various paints. “We Boatans, as well
as the Taborans, paint our bodies and faces when our
color is sallow or spotted. Hence I already have the
proper paint to make Dana Gleason as golden as I am.’’
So with Dorr’s help she applied the paint brush on
the face, arms, hands, and feet of the unconscious
woman, though first she mixed other paints to the exact
shade of the Earthling’s complexion. At her direction,
Dick rubbed in the oils that gave the right polish to
Dana’s disguised skin.

W ITH that done. Dure proceeded to daub herself.

She knew that on the following day they would
come to dress her in new garments so that her entire
body would need to be painted. She divested herself of
the dress that marked her for a slave, and began cover-
ing herself with the paint. Abruians have no false
modesty for the body, so that she thought nothing of
appearing before the man without clothing. He was
surprised when that was done to see how much she re-
sembled Dana Gleason. She rouged her lips and ap-
plied a dye to her hair, and, but for her eyes of red,
she was a twin sister of the Earthling.

Between them they changed Dana Gleason’s cloth-
ing, dressing her in the slave’s garments and redress-
ing Dure in Dana’s discarded suit. They were too busy
to see that day was already dawning when they at last
completed their task. Then Dure ordered Dorr to carry
Dana Gleason into another bedroom. He must leave
her lying there until the night, when he could come for
her and carry her to Gora. Dure did not doubt that
Moura’s spell would lose its hold in a few more hours.
She now prevailed upon Richard Dorr to leave ere he was
discovered there. She threw herself upon Dana Glea-
son’s couch, closing her eyes and assuming the same
death-like pose.

Richard Dorr was about to leave as he had come,
when suddenly retreat was cut off. Moura-Ur-tor had
entered the room undetected. He smiled coolly when
he recognized in this silver-skinned man the Earthling
with his blue eyes.

“Ah, so the prey has come to the hunter, eh ?’’ he re-
marked jovially. “And how do you like my handiwork,
Richard Dorr? I suppose you have been trying to re-
vive her?” he said with a wave of his hand toward the
couch.

“Nice of you to come calling this way. It saves my
men the work of searching the city for you. I have
decided to allow you to be present at the ceremony that
will make Dana Gleason and myself mates. And in
Tabora, you know, there is no practice of divorce. Once
wed, always wed ! Nice custom, eh?”

Dorr had nothing to say. He knew that behind him
lay the slave-quarters and that he could escape out into
the city through them. He had heard much of Moura-
Ur-tor. and found he did not like him at all. He hoped
that Dure could carry out her part of the contract.

“So Richard Dorr has nothing to tell me, I see,”
observed Moura with a smile still on his face. “Richard

Dorr does not enjoy the prospect of seeing the woman
he loves take another man to mate, nor the thought of
prison and death!”

At his words, a low laugh now broke from Dorr’s
lips. “Quite a nice picture that, but believe me I have
no idea of carrying out your plans, my villainous friend.
And as for your schemes concerning Dana Gleason, I
fear you have come into a ringer there.” It chagrined
Moura that he could not see behind Dorr’s inscrutable
eyes, for the Earthling had learned early on the planet
to withhold his thoughts from another. “As to your
marriage to this woman here, you are welcome to her.
I have nothing to do with a lifeless thing!”

And he turned away as if contemplating some future
course to take. His words, as Dorr expected, aroused
a fear in Moura-Ur-tor’s mind. Quickly he was at the
side of the couch. Concentrating his thoughts upon the
figure lying there, he ordered her to awaken. There
was no response 1 And he was surprised to find a blank
mind into which he could not delve, facing him.

Reaching down he shook her, only to feel the life-
less, unresponsive body. He half drew her to a sitting
position, and her head lolled back, her arms drooped.
Dure had understood what was in Dorr’s mind, and she
reacted accordingly. She would have enjoyed the
spectacle of seeing Moura wroth. Now, in consterna-
tion, he faced Richard Dorr.

“What have you done to her?”

Dorr shrugged his shoulders. “I have done nothing.
I found her that way. I believe she is dead.”

“You lie, you inhuman beast. Can you stand there
and look with such little concern upon the woman you
have professed to love? Is that the temper of your
earthly heart? Can you stand there and laugh down
upon the woman who has loved you these many months,
even though she thought you dead?”

ORR was staring in wonder at the other. He had
hated Moura, but now when he saw the look of .a
broken man in his eyes and heard his voice trembling

Zoata on a tour of inspection.

562

AMAZING STORIES

with emotion, he felt pity for the man instead of hatred.

"So you do love Dana Gleason, Moura-Ur-tor ?” he
asked softly.

Moura looked up in surprise. “I love Dana Gleason —
I— don’t know. I had not thought of her with love in
my heart. I have never known love.” Then the soft
mood forsook him, and he realized his position. Straight-
ening, he got to his feet. “Well, no matter. But you
are wrong, Dana Gleason still lives, and you shall see
her to-night as she becomes, as you say in your language,
my bride !”

Putting a whistle to his lips, Moura blew a blast. At
the same time Richard Dorr headed for the doorway to
the rear and soon had reached the back entrance of the
house. What slaves he met hurried out of his way.
They knew who he was and would have protected him
with their lives. They did make the attempt, too, when
he discovered that the entire house was surrounded by
the Ur-tor’s guard.

The slaves gathered around him, but he commanded
them to stand off, as he did not wish to implicate them
in his capture. He was captured and when Dure got up
from her couch to watch, she saw Moura leading the
way to the palace above.

The slave-women gathered about her and she told all
that had happened. Then she hurried to the room in
which Dana Gleason lay. She found her with her eyes
open, staring about. Moura had attempted to awaken
the slave girl who lay disguised as Dana on the couch.
In the adjoining bedroom Dana Gleason had heard the
summons and opened her eyes. She lay listening to the
talk from the other room, and made out something of
what was going on there. Wisely -she lay still until
she made sure that Moura had gone. She understood
the fact that Richard Dorr had been apprehended, and
tears stood in her eyes. Dure found her silently crying.

Glad to find that Dana had been aroused out of the
coma, into which Moura had flung her mind. Dure
rapidly told her all that had happened. “Go, call Ubca-
tor. I am sure he will do something to aid us,” com-
manded Dana, and Dure hastened to summon the youth.

He came, surprised at the transformation of Dana
Gleason. He avowed he could do nothing to free Rich-
ard Dorr, who was now a prisoner of the state, but when
the three put their heads together, a plan was concocted.

The sunset was already painting the sky when Moura-
Ur-tor came to the atoll of Dana Gleason. He found
Dure lying dressed in the magnificent costume that had
been prepared for Dana Gleason. He now bent over
her and carefully smoothed her brow, spoke to her and
called her mind back to the brain-chamber. Dure had
carefully been practicing the part that she knew was to
come. Slowly she moved her eyelids but took care not
to open her eyes wide. She gave a single glance at
Moura and turned away her head as she knew Dana
Gleason would have done in the same position.

“Come,” said the man, “we shall be late !”

A slave-woman standing by spoke for her. “My mis-
tress had not a bit to eat all day, Ur-tor.”

Impatiently the man waited until food was brought
and eaten, then he slowly led the woman at his side up
the broad stairs. The great square before the palace
was filled with a thousand guardsmen. The setting sun
bathed them in its rosy hues, tinting their flesh and
metal accoutrements. The great jeweled door of the
palace stood open, and they entered side by side. The

Kirada himself joined their hands. The supposed Dana
Gleason stood with eyes meekly downcast. Moura-Ur-
tor proudly stared about him. His heart was full to
overflowing. He was the acknowledged Ur-tor of all
Abrui. He had to wife the bravest woman in the land.
He had for prisoner the man he hated most vehemently.

Hidden by tapestries that were arranged so that he
might see all stood Richard Dorr among his guards. He
was slouched against the wall, taking delight in the
scene before him. There was nothing downcast in his
manner. His guards eyed him warily, doubtful as to
what he was, doubtful as to his intentions. Not that
Dorr showed he was anxious to make an attempt to es-
cape, but he did have the air of one who knew that he
would not be detained overlong by his captors.

The ceremony was over, and Dorr’s heart beat wildly,
when he realized that Dure, the slave-girl, had played her
part letter-perfect. He was anxious to know how Dana
fared. Had she been released from her coma? He
feared the worst, and he waited impatiently until his
guards were ready to lead him back to his prison. Only
they did not lead him back immediately.

Before the King

M OURA-UR-TOR had one more trump to play.

He was now facing Kirada Kalti, and he was
telling him about a spy who had come into
their midst. Dorr lifted his eyebrows as he heard him-
self described as a most despicable character. When he
was led before the Kirada, he held his head high and
his eyes flashed, but he was able to control himself and
told the Kirada he had nothing to give in answer to the
accusations. He listened to the long speech Walti made
before sentencing the prisoner to death. He was stand-
ing within five feet of the dais where Dure sat on the
throne chair especially designed for Dana Gleason. He
caught the whispered words of the slave. She had been
carefully drilled to say the few French words. Her
message was, “She waits for you.”

With a light heart he was led away to the cells be-
low the palace floor. Moura took his bride by the arm
and they embarked in his plane. Moura had planned
a honeymoon such as Dana Gleason had described, such
as all newly-married couides took on earth. Such a
procedure was unknown to Abrui.

In the mountains was a small estate that he had in-
herited from his family. Here in its seclusion he had
planned to bring Dana Gleason and break her to his
will. In the privacy of the Cof he took his wife in his
arras and embraced her. She lay passive in his arms,
and as he looked into her face she opened her eyes wide.
They were the red eyes of Dure!

That night was rung the death-knell of Tabora, yet
Tabora was unaware. That night was to go down in
history as a night of the greatest terror the Taboran
world had ever known. It was henceforth to be called
the Revolt of the Slaves. .There was no bloodshed,
only desertion.

At the proper hour all Tabora succumbed to sleep and
its great cities lay quiet. Jirst what happened none was
certain, but, at the hour that is midnight, every house
gave up its allotment of slaves. Like wraiths they crept
forth. Noiselessly every airplane was rolled forth
from its hangar, every airship was released from its
moorings. What guards there were to object were
silenced, each one by a hand on the throat, a gag in

OUT OF THE VOID

563

the mouth; hands and feet were then bound together.

There was a rustle like wind in the trees when the
planes lifted their wings; their motors were silent, they
soared to the heights above the cities. Every metropolis,
every city, every village, every hamlet, every plantation,
every farmhouse, was silently divested of its wings 1
The guards and soldiers were not even aroused from
their games or their cat naps. People serenely slept and
dreamed.

And not until morning did they know what had hap-
pened. But the few faithful slaves who remained be-
hind would not speak. The slaves were gone bag and
baggage, with every flying machine in the land. And
with them had gone Richard Dorr!

Of him his guards had nothing to say. They evinced
surprise when they learned that he had disapi^eared.
Had not Ubca-tor, nephew of the Kirada, come and
claimed that his majesty wished an audience with the
prisoner? True, guarcts escorted him as far as the
ante-room of the palace, but beyond that — was he not
in the keeping of the king? Ubca-tor was not to be
found.

E vening found Moura-Ur-tor in Carajama. He
arrived on the back of his one remaining slave, the
only slave in Tabora who had a kind word for the
master. It was a sorry story Moura had to tell. His
bride had held him off with a devilish little weapon, the
one Dana Gleason always carried with her. She had
demonstrated its power to Moura ; and Dure had shown
him she knew how to use it. Then with the company
of slaves who maintained his country house and estate
she had arisen in the air in Moura’s plane, and he had
seen the plane head for Gora!

Tabora was in a state of fear, disorganized, fearful
of what the next hour was to bring. They blamed
Moura-Ur-tor and his treaty with Kirada Yal. Yal had
been but stalling for time, waiting for the return of
his champion, who had promised to bring the Tabora
planes to him, for Gora had no planes. In the streets
people shrilled the name of Moura-Ur-tor, whom they
now disdainfully called Moura-weit. They hissed, they
spat.

Moura called the three Taboran Kiradas together.
From Ora had come word that she would have nothing
to do with the dealings. She agreed with Richard Dorr
that Justice should be done. Give to the Gora the lands
that had been wrested from them ! Give Moata land to
live in!

The Kiradas, with Moura backing them, cried no!
As rapidly as it could be done, every city was prepared
for siege, on every citadel was mounted the great death-
ray machines with which they were certain they could
wipe out any fleet of planes that should come warring.
Old obsolete planes were brought out of hiding. In the
airship-workshops thousands of men were put to work
to build new airships and complete half-finished ones.
A great activity was apparent.

At noon a voice was heard on the new radio of Dana
Gleason. It was the voice of Kirada Yal. He ex-
plained that Gora was ready to do battle, but first she
was giving Tabora a chance to do the sporting thing.
The demands of Gora were simple enough. She only
wanted her own lands back, the lands occupied at the
present by Doata ! For Moata she demanded Loata. Gora
would be magnanimous. She would not drive Tabora

back to the waste lands from out of which she had come.
Gora would give Zoata to Tabora for her own, that
they might all live together in peace and brotherhood,
that they might all have their place in the Sun.

Tabora jeered at such terms. Gora dictating to Ta-
bora! The ropt dictating to the sef (the Abruian lion).
However, Tabora was wary enough to say she would
consider the terms, and would give her answer two days
hence !

Richard Dorr was with Kirada Yal. Everything was
in readiness. He understood Tabora’s strategy. He
knew that Tabora would agree to no terms with Kirada
Yal.

For months he had been quietly working for such an
end. In Gora he had found the necessary ingredients
for gunpowder — saltpeter, charcoal, and sulphur. Small
hand-grenades and bombs and shells had been manu-
factured, crude but efficient enough for their work.
Men had been drilled in the practice of throwing them,
and of shooting the tiny cannon that could be carried
by planes. And these cannon were now distributed among
the thousands of Taboran planes now in possession of
the slaves. Then after these planes had been painted
in the solution that Dorr had manufactured from a
formula stolen from Carajama, they were sent through-
out Gora to pick up the tribesmen who had already been
trained to do their part.

The solution used was the only thing that could ren-
der man immune to the power of the Disintegrating
Ray of Tabora. Once Doata had warred upon her
sister nations, and because all three nations had pos-
sessed the same solution, the war had proved futile.
Peace had come to Tabora, a peace that lasted many
years until it was forgotten that the formula lay in the
vaults of Carajama.

Now every piece of metal, every prop, every piece of
fabric, every man, was daubed with the solution, so that
the entire fleet should be immune to the Ray.

With every fleet of a hundred planes, an airship filled
with the officers whom Richard Dorr had created and
trained for the work was ready to lead them to battle.
Under orders, a hundred of these fleets proceeded to the
frontiers of Gora and lay in waiting for the command to
descend upon Tabora from every direction. Every plane
was provided with one of the new radios, and Dorr had
evolved a system of signals by which orders could be
despatched without Tabora understanding.

By his side was Dana Gleason, still in her golden
disguise ; and with her was Dure. Dana was not happy
over the thought of this war, but she was beside her
lover, and that was all she asked for.

Two days later Tabora radioed her refusal of Kirada
Yal’s terms, which was the signal for the fleets of
Richard Dorr to set out for Tabora. With Kirada Yal,
Richard Dorr, Dana Gleason, and a great number of
high-ranking officers and statesmen of Gora, in the largest
airship that had been captured, set out for Carajama.

The Strange War

T HERE is no need to tell what took place on that
fateful day. The battle lasted only a day and part
of a night before Tabora knew she was beaten.
Not an enemy plane fell to the power of the Ureim,
while at a signal from the flagship thousands of missile:
fell upon the unprotected cities and their environs.
Parties landed from the planes, and the Taboran citi-

564

AMAZING STORIES

zens tried to do battle with the Gorans, only to find that
they were armed with small metal balls that exploded
and caused havoc among the citizenry.

Still no very great damage was done, outside of the
killing of thousands of Taborans. A few private dwell-
ings fell, but they could easily be rebuilt. The farm-
lands were left unscathed. Bombs continued to fall, but
they were dropped with no precision and without doing
much harm.

At midnight of the same day, the Taborans cried for
peace. At Ora the three Kiradas gathered and Kirada
Yal and Richard Dorr de.scended there. Only by his
power over his armies had Richard Dorr held the Gorans
from completely demolishing all the cities of Tabora,
and it was, because of his counsel, that Gora did not
claim all the rich lands of the planet.

He drew up the terms of the treaty, which gave to
Gora her old country, to Moata half of what she had
once possessed, and to Tabora the remaining section
sandwiched in between her erstwhile enemies and her
erstwhile slaves. Had Dorr been another type of man,
he might not have succeeded in gaining his point; but
he had made warriors of the Goras, and now he made
civilized men of them. Ora approved all that he de-
manded.

Tabora was given time to evacuate her lands and
move into the space allotted her. New cities had to be
built to contain her people. Her three Kiradas were
forced to divide the lands between them, and over them
was placed a regent from Ora. It will take her wounds
long to heal.

Moata elected a Kirada for herself, and old national
lines were re-established. The golden people are still
wildly exuberant over their emancipation, and Gora is
overjoyed in the new wealth that has come to her.

Dorr and Dana Gleason stayed at Ora, planning to
seek some out-of-the-way plantation where they could
henceforth dwell in peace ; but Gora and Moata would
not bear of it. With one accord they elected Richard
Dorr as their Ur-Kirada to see that justice was car-
ried on.

It will take many years, no doubt, to force the three
races to live on friendly terms. It will take years for
the raw sores to heal ; but with a man like Richard Dorr
at the head, peace and understanding will grow and ma-
ture in the hearts of the people.

*****

A nd so our host wearily finished his tale. In his
• eyes we saw great depth of feeling.

"But what became of Moura?” we all demanded.

He apologized for his omission. “With the defeat of
Tabora, Moura disappeared. The Taborans sang a
song of hate for him. They forgot what good works he
had done and remembered only that he had failed. They
remembered him for the ambitious, arrogant man he was.
They searched for him, but he was not to be found.

"Only Ubca-tor knew where he had gone to hide with
his single faithful servant. In his name Ubca sought
out Richard Dorr, and asked for mercy for the man
whom his people were seeking in revenge. For Ubca-tor
still loved Moura, although he had deliberately set out
to save Dana Gleason from the man.

“Dorr sought Moura out, and promised him his aid.”

S O the story ended. We were all surprised to dis-
cover how stiff and cramped we had become, and
arose to our feet to stretch. The golden man appeared
again with trays of food and drink, of which we par-
took with enjoyment. We were all silent as each re-
viewed in his mind the tale he had just heard. I could
not but wonder what had happened to Moura-Ur-tor.
Looking up, I saw the eyes of our host upon me.

The Professor broke the tension of the moment. "I
wonder,” said he softly, “if you would mind telling us
your name, sir. Strange that last night none of us
thought of introductions,” and he smiled blandly upon
us all. True none of us had been formally introduced.
I did not even know my host’s name after traveling half
across the world with him. I knew him only as Sa-Dak
(good master), and his companion as Tor, which I knew
meant prince. It occurred to me that the Taboran had
deliberately avoided an introduction and an exchange
of names. I saw his eyes travel to his companion as if
seeking aid there; then he turned to Rollins. “I swore
long ago, sir, that nothing that Professor Rollins should
demand of me would I neglect to fulfil. And yet, most
of all I dread to disclose my name. But you ask it.

“The man who faces you, sir, is none other than one
who has since learned that too much ambition is as bad
for the soul as too little ambition. Ambition over-
shadows one’s vision, so that he sees nothing but his
aim before him and is willing to sacrifice his fellow man
to forward that ambition. I, sir, am Moura-weit.”

Somehow, I failed to be shocked at the disclosure, but
Professor Rollins dropped the plate he was still hold-
ing. Elsie Rollins’ eyes widened, and I cannot find
words to describe the expression that crept into her
face, an expression that was a combination of surprise,
distrust, disbelief, disappointment, together with anger
and something akin to pity. I could only feel pity.

“Yes,” went on Moura-weit, “I am the man who did
all in his power to break the will of Dana Gleason and to
do away with Richard Dorr. I did not recognize the
fact that I loved Dana Gleason. Can you forgive
me?”

Professor Rollins slowly answered : “It is not for me
to forgive you, for I had almost succeeded in murder-
ing those two. I have lived in sorrow for the deed, but
now that you have told me that all is well, I know I
can die happy. Wherefore should I judge you? No;
rather I am glad you have escaped the wrath of your
people and can spend the remainder of your life happy
in the thought that you did not accomplish your pur-
pose.”

Silently the two clasped hands.

Again a deep silence enveloped us, but I was still
anxious for facts. “How did you manage to construct
this machine and escape, since men were seeking for
you?” I asked.

Moura-weit turned his strange eyes upon me. “That
I owe to three people: Richard Dorr, Dana Gleason,
and — Ubca-tor,” and he held out his hand to his com-
panion in exile. “I have spoken of the machine which
the Roata (the Earth-club) , commenced to build, hoping
to gain favor in Dana Gleason’s eyes. It was aban-
doned at Ora when half completed. Dorr gave me help
to complete it. Then Ubca-tor and my faithful servant
Urto elected to accompany me. Richard Dorr and Dana
Gleason saw us depart and wished us God-speed. On
leaving, Dana Gleason, whom you would now call Mrs.

565

OUT OF THE VOH)

Richard Dorr, presented me with the manuscript I
brought to the Professor, and she also gave me the
little diary as a memento; for she said she no longer
needed it, since the past was past, and she thought it
would aid me in convincing the Professor that she had
truly sent me to him !”

There was much more said, but that is irrelevant to
this story. Moura-weit conveyed me back to the spot
where he had first captured me, but the Rollinses went
back with Moura-weit, for the Professor was anxious
to see the Void.

Professor Rollins died aboard the Yodvcrl, but what
Elsie Rollins experienced aboard the interplanetary
vehicle is another story. She returned only to straighten

out the effects of the late Professor Ezra Rollins. She
came to New York and stayed long enough to help me
compile the above story, which will not be published until
I am dead. Perhaps after I die, Moura-weit may return
to Earth and so corroborate this exceptional history.

Doctors have examined my collar bone, but can find no
proof that it was ever fractured. My wife refuses
to believe a word of what I told her, declaring I must
have hidden away a cache of whiskey in my fishing-hut,
and drunk too deeply. I have only the ruby that Moura-
weit left in payment for my old suit. Gem experts de-
clare it to be as perfect a ruby as ever was found and
insist it is of terrestrial origin. I know differently.
But — I cannot prove it.

The End

In this department we shall discuss, every month, topics of interest to readers. The editors invite correspondence on all subjects
directly or indirectly related to the stories appearing in this magaaine. In case a special personal answer is required, a nominal

fee of 25c to cover time and postage is required.

Editor , Amazing Stories:

1 trust you will not consider this letter an in-
trusion or anything but friendly criticism. Have
been reading your most interesting publication,
Amazing Stories, almost from the first issue.
And will say it is O. K. nothing else but.

Best of all are some of the astralnautic stories.
Some are very good indeed, with the exception of
the means of transit, as conceived by some of the
authors. At this time it is the rocket craze, an
idea as old as the themes of the authors. 1 once
read your answer to a rocket idea about a sug-
gestion of it acting as a satellite to the Moon.
Your answer was that it might get too close to
Luna and collide with a telegraph pole, or am I
mistaken? Was it Prof. Munchhausen’s aerial
tower? I think that was a good answer to the
suggestion.

But on the level, do you really think this
rocket to the Moon or Mars has any kind of a
show? As 1 am an advertising man, I can
readily see your stand. If the public wants a
rocket to Mars or the Moon — all well and good,
give it to them, even if Jules Verne did tell about
it years ago. BUT in reality this might not be
so good. Suppose Prof. Goddard really thinks
it possible. You still have doubts as a good busi-
ness man must have them. The chances are ten
thousand to one that one could never even get out
of the attraction of the earth. For one reason the
Moon is possibly held partly in position by the
gravity of the earth. And the Moon is a long, long
way from the earth indeed. Besides this is only
the simplest and most childish way of trying to
get out of our earth’s attraction. Your Interstel-
lar machine was to my mind a great idea. The
globe system. Because all astral bodies are this
shape, with the exception of meteors. But to
build a machine or contrivance is a big thing in-
deed. Could metals, as we know them, be con-
sidered at all? Not on account of their rela-
tion to gravity, but their ability to stand expan-
sion and contraction. Also would they have
strength enough to withstand a possible collision
with a giant meteor until you could get far enough
from the earth’s attraction to neutralize this
hazard. Then these rovers of space might collect
so thick around the hull of the space machine that
they would put you entirely out of commission.
Then steering a rocket would be all humbug with
the counteracting charges, etc. Suppose we do
reach the Moon, which eventually will come some
day. Let us hope, my friend, that you and I will
see that day and listen and see the movies over
the super vision-phones of the reports.

When that day arrives, man will be great in-

ALMOST AN INTERPLANETARY STORY

deed, at least in our solar system, unless life
gets so unbearable on Mars that the Martians
will migrate to our planet. Who knows? For
you have no doubt read the lines of the poet, “and
’tis written in the stars, there are other worlds,
other lives, other happiness than ours.” But let’s
hope that the Martians will stay on Mars and
not beat us to it.

Suppose a giant globe is built of aluminum
treated to stand extreme low temperatures. Say
three thousand feet in diameter with a globe to
withstand extreme low temperatures as well as
high ones. This outer shell to be a maze of
buffers, aluminum discs with plunger bar running
to the cylinders inside the shell with a plunger.
Cylinders to he filled with highly compressed
helium gas {or perhaps a new (jas that is now about
perfected in Germany that has os I understand
from twelve to txventy times the lifting poxver of
any gas now known). The cylinders would act
as the gas bags and dash pots for the meteor
buffers. Also the cylinders of very thin sheet
rolled aluminum would give you enormous strength
when riveted to the outside shell. Then another
gigantic cylinder inside the first, with a space filled
entirely with the very highly compressed gas,
separating the two globes, thus making the inner
globe like a toy balloon of monster size floating
free in the gaseous atmosphere of high pressure.

Of course there would be a passage made flex-
ible or passages from the inside of the sphere to
the outside shell for observation purposes, etc., as
well as the propulsion tubes. The propulsion tubes
to be used after we get out of the earth’s at-
traction. (Remember a million miles on a gallon
of gas!) A good way to express that little power
W’ould be needed to move after we get away from
earth. It is here calculated that the lifting gas
will carry us up about twelve miles. Then the
rocket explosion system using our lifting gas to
drive us still higher. Understand there are
millions of cubic feet of this gas compressed into
our cylinders, as well as the compress<^ gas space
of eight hundred feet between the two globes,
the inner globe and the outer globe, making in
all many million more cubic feet.

Of course the central part of the inner globe
will carry our electrical machinery, oxygen outfits,
portable oxygen outfits, chemicals, food, cloth-
ing, water, and numerous scientific instruments,
etc., etc., heating plant, cooling plant, etc.

Again we think of Jules Verne and the pas-
sengers in his rocket standing on their heads and
floating about, etc. You wear laminated iron shoes
that keep you on an even keel, held down by the
powerful magnets in the center of the globe’s ma-

chinery. Inside of globe is constructed so that
your feet are always pointing to the center, just
as they are on earth.

Atmospheric pressure will keep the vital organs
of the body in their proper position, perhaps even
better than earthly gravity. This is artificial at-
mosphere made by our machinery and its auxiliaries.

The take-off from earth after the powerful lift-
ing gas has been compressed into our cylinders
will be made by a mechanical device, securely
anchored to the earth.

Steering the giant globe, after we get out of
the earth’s attraction, will be made by the aid of
the propulsion tubes. It is well to ask here just
bow does Prof. Goddard Intend to fire his tubes
without oxygen? In his measly little rocket, that
is utterly impossible. I would like to bear your
view on this point.

As the gravity on the moon is much more
feeble than on our earth, and as we are almost
sure there is little or no atmosphere, we shall de-
pend entirely on our propulsion tubes for the re-
turn from the moon, having over half of our
gas left when arriving on the moon’s surface.

The voyage through space may indeed be quite
interesting. For instance, why not? The Sar-
gasso Sea of Space. How about a good tale in
Amazing Stories on this theme. On the voy-
age to the moon, one might possibly run into such
a sea, a sea of dying satellites lost from their
mother planets, and a sight that you will remcim
ber to the last day you live.

It was a tiny satellite composed of a sulphur
color mass, about the size of an eight-acre field
in diameter. This satellite was bobbing gently
and clinging to a much larger sphere alongside
of it. As you stand in the end of the observation
tunnel next to it as the space machine slides past,
you phone to the engineers to hover, hold position.

A sight that mortal man in his wildest dreams
in the world of fancy never expected to see. Cling-
ing to this satellite in the Sargasso Sea of Space,
An airplane of the triplane type. The pilot with
his bead banging over the cockpit with his hel-
met and goggles still in place. A red triplane
with two Spandau machine guns mounted. Plainly
the Maltese cross painted on the tail could he seen.
Then it dawned on me, as I remember well over
seas when the report was out that they had “got”
Ritchoven. All liars, they could not get the bravest
and most skilful pilot that ever flew a plane.

Only this explanation; this tiny satellite, wan-
dering around mother earth, had for years been
quite close to us, but had never been- discovered.
And because of its unknown composition refused to
{Continued oh page 568)

566

September, 1929

In the Realm of Books

Mostly Scientific Fiction

An Anthology of Best Weird Stories

The Great Weird Stories. Edited by Arthur Neale. Published

by Duffield Gf Co., New York City. $2.00.

In the mad rush of present-day existence, our tastes In reading
matter seem to have taken on all the rules of speed. More and
more the public seems to have developed a taste for the short
story — a story that could be read and finished while waiting for
the next course if you happen to be dining alone, or in between
acts at the theatre, or perhaps — this seems to be the most popular
of them all — just before going to bed.

In this volume of short stories of the weird and ghost-story type,
Arthur Neale has chosen rather wisely. Outstanding among his
collection are: “The Shining Pyramid,” by Arthur Machen; “The
Mark of the Beast,” by Rudyard Kipling; and “In the Valley of
the Sorceress,” by Sax Rohmer.

For those who can never get stories gruesome enough, Mr.
Neale has chosen “The Two Sisters of Cologne.”

Such an anthology as this is extremely timely and the publish-
ers should have no difficulty in getting it accepted by the public.
— C. A. B.

Once More the Antediluvians

The Greatest Adventure, by John Taine. Published by E. P.

Dutton Gf Company, New York. $2.50.

Ages ago, according to John Taine, there lived a race of people

intelligent and overambltious who delved too deeply into the
secrets of life. They created enormous monsters, providing some
of them with fangs discharging a most virulent poison. This
race must have realized the danger these creatures held for the
rest of the world once the animals and their fast-growing fauna
got_loose, so they endeavored to seal up and destroy the results
of their science by covering vast valleys with a layer of artificial
rock in which they engraved a pictorial record of some of their
achievements for posterity to read.

Posterity, in the shape of an adventurous sea captain who has
interested a scientist and his daughter, explores and reads some
of these records. They have some exciting adventures, perilous
flights over ignited gas wells, through miles of gas-lit caverns
filled with prehistoric monsters, a battle with a valley full of
saurians, the capture of a young saurian and their final escape
from the clutches of a fast-growing weed, which grows about a
foot a minute.

Conan Doyle in his “Lost World,” and recently Allan Sullivan,
in his “In the Beginning,” have more or less popularized ante-
diluvian animals, and anyone who has enjoyed either or both of
these books will be amply rewarded by reading Taine’s “The
Greatest Adventure.” Mr. Taine’s splendid imagination has
given us quite a number of wonderful books. His “Purple
Sapphire” and “Gold Tooth’^ have not as yet been surpassed by
any writer of this type of imaginary fiction. — C. A. B.

READERS’ VOTE OF PREFERENCE

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Why:

This is YOUR magazine. Only by knowing what stories you like, can we please you. Fill out this
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568

AMAZING STORIES

September, 1929

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be drawn only so far towards our earth. But in
its roamings it bad drawn many a man and bird
to it, holding them prisoner forever, finally drift-
ing onward with this roaming mass of satellites
through the heavens, causing a dark spot that
blotted out the stars from our earth, and keeping
the astronomers guessing.

As we gazed through our powerful glasses I
could make out something that looked like a balloon
of years ago. Phoning to the engineers again,
we moved over to this object that attracted ray at-
tention. A balloon it was, with two men in the
basket, huddled together as they were when death
came. There was a basket with some carrier
pigeons within. Then we made out some lettering
on the basket, "Spitsbergen July 1897.” Could it
be Andrae and his balloon long forgotten by the
people on earth? Numerous birds and odd flying
reptiles of long ago were scattered over the
satellite. Over to the moon side of the satellite
was something we had to wait for, as the engineer
in charge of the thermometers advised that it
would be necessary for us to cross to the observa-
tion port on the opposite side, as the ship must be
turn^ to get away from the terrific heat of the
sun as the gas was exiianding rapidly on our side.
And the chilled side opixjsite the sun must be
warmed. But the wait of an hour was well worth
while, for a gigantic dirigible greeted our eyes that
did not seem to be damaged in the least. Only
the large envelope was deflated, as in the case of
the balloon, the gas having escaped out into the
great vacuum of space.

We plainly made out the name on the forward
gondola, "Dixmunde” and the French flag droop-
ing from under the catwalk. But the most grip-
ping sight of our voyage on the way to the Moon
was the other side of this death-dealing sky rover.
A gigantic airplane with skull and crossbones
under the cockpit — just as they had been painted
by the pilots Nungesscr & CoH. The professor
said something to me in a tone that was hardly
more than audible. “The greatest experience in life,
my friend, is death.”

That was all, except a strange helicopter ma-
chine. Nothing had we ever seen on earth like it.
It seemed to be several windmills with what might
be rocket-exploding tubes under the gondola.
Hanging out over a ledge was something that
seemed to glow and then die down and then glow
again like a strange fluctuation in an electrical
circuit. This object looked to be about six inches
in diameter, disc-like. I felt sure it meant a lot
and determined to get it. Putting on one of our
portable oxygen helmets, I stepped through the
port as the professor opened the door. A hiss is-
sued forth as some of our atmosphere escaped into
space and I stepped out on the satellite. The pro-
fessor closed the door. It was a strange feeling,
indeed, to be taken away from your magnetic pull
on your shoes, but I was anchored securely to our
ship with a strong rope. We took no chances.

It was only a dozen steps or so till I was close
to the strange airship and the glowing disc.
Watching this disc, it almost seemed to be alive;
then it flashed on me that it was some sort of
means of communication. As I watched, this is
what came to my mind as plain as I can think
it of my own free will: We have almost reached
our goal — that planet that is so near and yet so
far. This machine was the only successful de-
vice ever made that could sail off into space. We
urged the good ruler on our planet to build many
machines such as this and of large dimensions.
But it was of no use, always the astronomers
told him that the great danger would pass.
Towards the last few days of life on our planet
we prepared to take off for what you call earth.
Here the disc paled and almost went out; it was a
pause — I could then draw conclusions This ma-
chine had at one time been on the Moon, and built
by the Moon men. But what was the great
catastrophe that had befallen our satellite when
all life died? Here I paused; and as if in
answer, the disc glowed with the glow of life.

As the great comet came closer and closer, it was
too late to build the airships. The astronomers
advised the population to dig great pits, miles
wide and a mile or more deep, thus to avoid the
breath of the terrible comet that destroyed all
life and air on the Moon.

Then it all dawned on me. The craters on the
Moon were made by the terror-stricken people
when it was the last chance to save their lives.
Just as we would do here on earth under the same
circumstances. But it failed entirely as the breath
of the comet’s doom came down on the inhabi-
tants of the Moon. People of the white race, like
ourselves.

Well, Mr. Editor, wilt let you finish this one.

Gordon I,ane,

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September, 1929

AMAZING STORIES

569

(This interesting letter with its many curious
conclusions reads almost like a story. But there
arc several things in it which call for comment.
We do not personally believe in the possibility of
a rocket reaching the moon. We certainly agree
with you that there is no chance that the rocket
could ever get out of the attraction of the earth
and as you very properly remark, the moon is sub-
ject to that attraction. If once the rocket got far
enough away the attraction of the earth would be
extremely slight and at a greater distance, would
practically disappear and the attraction of the
moon would take its place. You must remember
that not only does the earth attract the moon by
gravitation, but the moon attracts the earth. Not
only docs the earth attract us, who walk upon it,
but we attract the earth too. We are not appre-
hensive of the Martians ever getting either to the
earth or to the moon. Your idea of a shell of an
interplanetary globe to be made up of a lot of
buffers, is quite ingenious. In this connection, the
new gas you speak of coming from Germany, is
entirely fictitious, for such a gas seems an absolute
physical impossibility. Now coming to what you
say about Professor Goddard; a rocket is fired
without consumption of oxygen. None is needed.
So there Professor Goddard is right. Now what
follows reads almost like a story. We know that
our many readers, who are fond of interplanetary
stories particularly, will greatly enjoy your let-
ter. — Editor.)

SCIENTIFIC CRITICISM BY AN AUTHOR
Editor, Amazing Stories:

I have just read the July issue. I wonder if
Jack Barnette will mind if I give him a few facts
on bacteriology and surgery? Scientifiction does
not give a writer the license to distort or to dis-
regard well established facts in applied science.
One of the main functions of scientifiction is to
give its readers the correct atnwspherc of any
science. I know nothing about geology, and I
want to feel that when I read some geological
scientifiction, the scientific setting which the au-
thor gives me is correct. I do not want to be
treated to a lot of his innocent misconceptions
on the subject. When a writer sets out to give
us a story on some subject that he does not under-
stand, it is his duty to see that every detail be
gives us is true to fact; otherwise his story
is not scientifiction, but a fairy-tale; and it creates
a thoroughly disgusted feeling in those of its read-
ers who happen to be working every day in that
particular subject.

1 might lead off by suggesting that a bacteriolo-
gist would not be apt to have a copy of Paul
DeKruiff’s Microbe Hunters on his desk. This
book possibly appeals strongly to the lay reader,
but it is not scientific authority, and has found
but little favor among scientific men. Your bac-
teriologist ought to have Park & Williams’ Patho-
genic Microorganisms, or Jordan or Zinsser. Those
would furnish him some technical information.

The most incongruous thing was “watching
germ cultures through the lens of their micro-
scopes.’’ (I’m sure he meant through the lenses
of their microscopes.) You cannot watch a culture
through a microscope. Before it is possible to see
bacteria with a microscope, it is necessary to make
a special preparation of them on a slide. In a
hanging drop they may be distinguished as bac-
teria: and if they happen to belong to a mobile
variety, their movement can be noted. But they
cannot be identified. Some varieties can be iden-
tified by killing and staining them. Others again
must be cultured on various media, and an iden-
tification may require a week’s time.

It is not possible to tell by looking through a
microscoi>e at a germ, that it has died just at
this moment or that. You cannot take its pulse
or note the precise moment when it stops kicking
its feet. There is no way of telling whether it is
still breathing or whether its heart has stopped
beating. Even the cessation of activity of a
mobile organism does not prove that it is dead.

The only way to check whether or not organisms
in a culture have been killed, is by their ability
or inability to grow and form colonies on a new
culture medium. Transplants have to be made
from the culture ui>on which the experiments are
being performed; the culture must be put into
an incubator, and in a day, or in a week, the
results may be read. In the case of tubercle
bacilli, three months are required to be certain
of results. The statement that “the blood of a
guinea-pig showed only dead microbes” is a most
ridiculous and mirth-provoking one for a practical
bacteriologist. The only way to find microbes in
blood is to grow them; hunting for “dead mi-
crobes” in blood has got the needle and the
haystack skinned so far that there isn’t any
comparison.

To speak of seeing bacteria “fade and die”
dowa’t belong in scientific language. It gives the

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AMAZING STORIES

September, 1929

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story a sort of Tennysonian or Hans-Andersonian
air; it sounds innocent and guileless; but it isn’t
scientifiction. When I got through that part of
the story I feared that neither Doctor Grey nor
the writer had any business monkeying with try-
panosomes or spirochetes; they didn’t know enough
alxiut the subject, and were in danger of getting
hurt.

Now a few words about the surgical end of the
story. I am not a surgeon, and for that reason
have avoided writing surgical stories. I wish the
editors could get bold of some man who really
does surgery and get him interested in writing
stories — that would be real edification for the
readers. But I am around surgery every day,
.and can make some suggestions to Mr. Barnette
about amputations. *‘l can amputate a limb in-
stantly,” he says. If he did that, his patient
would die of hemorrhage in the next two or three
instants. Amputating a limb cuts some large
blood vessels; and if the patient’s life is to be
saved, these must be tied shut before the amputa-
tion takes place. Furthermore, amputation is not
a mere chopping off. Each thing must be done
in its proper place and order. The bone must be
cut high; muscles must be closed over the lower
end of it to form a cushion; enough skin must be
left to cover the end of the stump, and so forth.

Mr. Barnette even treats appendectomy too
lightly. If he succeeded in crossing his rays
within the abdomen and amputating the appendix
under cover, the patient would most certainly die,
in anywhere between a few hours to four days.
If he did not bleed to death, peritonitis would get
him, because the open end of the appendix would
squirt deadly infection into the peritoneal cavity.

So, I repeat, I think it is wrong for writers to
play with subjects they do not understand. It is
misleading to readers who read Amazing Stories
in the hope that they are getting a scientific
atmosphere.

I wish to congratulate Lester and Pratt, the
authors of “Danger” in the July issue. They
have really given the story an excellent biological
atmosphere; the little careless conversational ex-
pressions of the characters are true to life; scien-
tific men talk jvtst that way. If the writer is
careful of bis atmosphere, he can put over the
wildest kind of imaginative ideas on us, and we
swallow them cheerfully.

Miles J. Brener, M.D.,
Lincoln, Nebraska.

(This letter speaks for itself very plainly and
to the point, so we’ll have to refer it to the author
of the story to which Dr. Breucr takes exceiHion.
There are comparatively few who have the hai)py
faculty possessed by Dr. Brevier of writing fiction
with exact correctness in minute scientific detail.
VVe think that the criticism on "Microbe Hunters”
misses the point of the book, which is indicated in
its name. It is a biographical work, not a work on
microbes proper and seems to us to be worthy of
commendation. If the most incongruous thing in
Jack Barnette’s story was the use of the singular
word lens instead of lenses, we think you would
have little to complain of. There is hardly any
way of telling what the future will develop in
microscopic investigations. As for the instant
amputation of limbs. Often instant amputations
do occur — by power saws or other machinery —
and many of the victims have been known to sur-
vive. We are very glad, however, that you did
like “Danger,” and appreciate your letter and
your stories which we publish in our magazine. —
Editor.)

A SUGGESTED VISIT FROM CLEOPATRA
OR SOME OTHER “ANCIENT OP DAYS”
Editor, Amazing Stories:

I have been reading your fine magazine for two
years and hardly ever miss a copy so I feel that
I should tell you what I think of it. One set of
my friends condemns me for reading such “im-
possible, foolish, crazy stories.” Then another
group of them do not say so much but say that
reading stories of that type stimulates the imag-
ination and that there can be no harm in it. But
I think many people have a peculiar idea of any
one who reads stories which do not deal with
present-day facts. But I hate to live forever in
the present. I like to take a far journey to some
distant planet in fancy, or go into the future on
the magic carpet of your stories or be beside
some scientist who is conducting some unusual
and unheard of experiment. Alas! we cannot all
be alike.

I have read much of what others say about
your title and cover. For a magazine of your
type I don’t see how you could choose a better
title or name. Likewise you could hardly be less
conservative in your cover designs as your stories
are not conservative. A demure, modest cover
would not match well with stories of the opposite
type. I think you combine the two very nicely.

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September, 1929

AMAZING STORIES

Many of your stories deal with the future, near
and distant and the modes of life at those times,
f have a suggestion to offer and I wonder why
some prolific writer has not thought of it sooner.
Why not find some way of bringing some one
from the ancient world suddenly into our present
day life x'ia one of your authors? How would
Cleopatra or Nero feel if they were suddenly
aroused to life at this day and time? Or perhaps
Henry VIII or Nai)oleon of over a century ago?
The wonders of our raoclern life would be as
amazing to them as the wonders of life five
centuries hence would be to us, and perhaps even
more so, for the ancients had little time to think
of the world of the distant future.

I would enjoy such a tale and am sure other
readers would. I hope some of your authors will
take me up on this suggestion and render us a
real thriller. I would try it but am sure some
one else could go me one better. Sol perhaps
Nero or Napoleon will again reappear to live
amongst us at least for a few moments to feast
their astonished eyes upon the miracles of today.

Ross L. Rralley,

4425 Genesee Street,

Kansas City, Mo.

(We admit that many of our stories may be
impossible, but the right kind of impossibility is the
basis for the best kind of stories. We certainly
do not -consider them foolish or crazy. There
seems to be so much impending in the near future
that it seems a pity that all of us have to
leave the world, although we could hope to watch
its progress in future ages. You refer to our cover
designs; we hope you like our recent covers more.
The greatest attention is given them by our Art
Director. Vour suggestion for a story based on
the return of Nai>oieon or some «f the great
figures of former days to our civilization is a
good one, and we hope that some of our authors
will consider the possibility of using it as a
subject. — Editor.)

AN INTERESTING LETTER FROM A
CHEMIST AND PHYSICIST
Editor, Amazing Stories:

For several years, I have been an ardent reader
of Amazing Stories, both the Monthly and the
Quarterly. Although I am a chemist and crimi-
nologist and read many professional magazines, I
find that Amazing Stories is as instructive as and
far more interesting than many of the professional
magazines. I always keep my Amazing Stories
and have them bound for future reading.

I have, however, a few questions and a few
criticisms about some of the stories. In “Out of
the Sub-Universe,” how did the Professor manage
to get his subjects to land on an electron instead
of in the interelectronic and intermolecular space?
Since he made them diminish as slowly as he did,
and since their span of life decreased propor-
tionately to their size, how did they ever live long
enough to reach the electron? When the Pro-
fessor was returning the Electronians to the
Earth, would not their increasing weight change
the motion of the electron, thus causing a release
of atomic power, and destroying all nearby?

Although it is true that there are many similar-
ities between solar and atomic systems, 1 do not
believe that it can be said that they are the same.
My reasons are: In the atom, the nucleus is
smaller, but of greater density and more powerful
than its electrons, while the Sun is larger, more
powerful (heat, etc.), but of nearly the same
density as the planets. The electrons are all the
same size, and travel at the same speed, several
traveling on the same orbits (but on opjwsite
sides), whereas no two planets have the same size,
speed, or orbits.

In the “Moon of Doom,” the author stated that,
during a change from a gas to a liquid, or from
a liquid to a solid, the electrons (which he com-
pares to planets) come clo.ser together and de-
crease their speed. I do not believe that is so,
but that it is the molecules which do this. If we
couid change the speed or position of electrons
by merely changing the physical condition of the
material, we would have solved the mystery of
the release of atomic power and transmutation of
metals.

I liked the “Menace of Mars” and the “Gas-
weed” very much, as these stories are the first
I have ever read in which the authors never gave
their animals or plants (or whatever you may call
them) forms too similar to earthly creatures. It
does not seem logical to me that evolution would
cause the creatures of all the planets to be as
nearly like those of earth as most authors depict
them.

Although I have studied physics many years, I
do not think I have ever understood parts so
well or retained so much as I have since reading
the “Skylark of Space.” I often refer to that
story for facts.

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AMAZING STORIES

September, 1929

Jules Verne Comes Back

to Life!

A MAGIC name — Jules Verne! A name
that has brought untold joy to untold
millions.

Who can fail to remember his famous novels,
“Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea,”
“From the Earth to the Moon,” “To the Center
of the Earth,” and other equally imaginative
triumphs of this world renowned novelist 9 Few
writers have ever equaled Jules Verne’s vivid
imagination, and still fewer have been able
to paint these pictures of the mind so bril-
liantly in printed words.

And now Jules Verne comes back to life!
Comes back with stories that increase your
pulse and make your heart pound. For in
AMAZING STORIES, the magazine of scien-
tific fiction, the famous school of authors who
have followed in Jules Verne’s footsteps now
offer you the fertile fruits of their imagination.
In their colorful minds, the inventions and di.s-
coveries still to come are already here. They
write of a voyage to -Venus, that silvery star
seen so often in the evening sky ; of cor-
respondence with a mythical people on Mars;
of radio messages from still more distant
planets; of giant insects and of people who

THE MAGAZINE
OF SCIENTIFIC
FICTION

381 FOURTH AVENUE
NEW YORK, N. Y.

have huge heads and no bodies; of the things
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It’s a thrill you’ve never had ! For it deals
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Get the next 6 Big Issues of AMAZING
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September, 1929

AMAZING STORIES

573

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Education

"The Invisible Man” is very interesting, but
not so instructing. 1 wonder if any of the readers
know that flesh can be rendered invisible (or
rather transparent) by placing it in a liquid
having the same refractive index as flesh. Such a
liquid is a mixture of three parts of methyl sali-
cylate and one part of benzyl benzoate. Of
course, such transparency lasts only while the
flesh remains in the mixture.

1 have noticed in the Discussions Columns,
that many of the readers have difficulty in con-
sidering time as a dimension. One reader said it
would be as reasonable to cal! weight a dimension.

I think I can explain this by saying all measure-
ments can be classified as first degree measure-
ments, second degree measurements, etc. For
instance, since days, hours, ages, etc., are used
to measure length of time, they are of the first
degree. Also, since yards, meter-s, miles, etc., are
measures of length, they also are of the first
degree. However, since only solid objects, not
lines or surfaces, have weight or mass, weight
or mass must be of the third degree, not of the
first, as is time. This, however, does not say that
time or distance need be the fourth dimension
any more than the second or fifth. A partial
classification of the common measurements is
1st degree, or linear; distance (feet, yards), time
(seconds, ages), arc and angles (degree, railian);
2nd degree, or square: surface (square feet),
solid angle (spherid, steradian); 3rd degree, or
cubic: volume (liters, quarts, cubic inches), mass
(grams, tons, pounds), power (watts, horse-
power); 4th degree: energy (watt-hours, joule),
(a third degree measure X a first); 0-th degree:
velocity (meter per second, knot), etc.

I enjoyed the story "Into the Fourth Dimension”
by Ray Cummings, which was printed several
years ago in the "Science and Invention” and
wondered if you could reprint it in Amazing
Stories. I also think that many readers who save
and bind the past issues of Amazing Stories like
myself, would appreciate it if a general table of
contents were printed at the beginning of every
sixth issue of the Monthly and of every fourth
isSue of the Quarterly.

Jos. E. Vincent

5108 Dawson St., Seattle, Washington

(Criticism of our stories from a professional
man are at once complimentary and instructive.
Complimentary because it indicates appreciation
from one who is particularly competent. Your
criticism of the electron story is so clever that
we let it speak for itsdf. We doubt if the time
has come when the planetary theory of the atom
as it may be termed can be accepted as absolute
truth, for the present theories certainly will be
modified in the future. It is quite interesting to
formulate various theories about the gaseous, the
liquid and the solid states of matter, and surmise
whether any atomic change is involved in the
physical one, or whether the atoms remain abso-
lutely unchanged in the three states. — Editor.)

JUDGING MAGAZINES BY THEIR
COVERS. A CURIOUS INCIDENT

Editor, Amazing Stories:

I have been a reader of Amazing Stories since
its inception and as such am much interested in
its welfare and am writing the first letter to any
magazine to promote just that and not for pub-
lication in the "Discussions” column. I wish to
state to you some hard facts, but before doing so,

I wish to impress upon you that 1 am writing as a
"scientist” of some repute so as to give weight to
the facts stated. I have no wish to carry the im-
pression of having an exaggerated ego when I say
that I started the study of general science when in
"pinafores” and have been at it for fifty years,
and am now holding a position of no mean im-
portance with the U. S. government. In my
younger days my studies were confined to theory
and recreation to "scientific fiction” of that time.
As I grew older I was obliged to limit my "fiction”
to one quarter of all available "making time,” and
am still holding to that limit or less, for all of my
fiction reading is now confined to Amazing
Stories. Now, to get to the “facts.” As a gov-
ernment employee, I, of necessity, try to secure
your magazine from (government building "stands,”
but am unable to do so. If you do not know it
already, the Government leases “newsstand” con-
cessions in its buildings to the best “bidder” under
provisions laid down by the controlling department.
One, and the only one you are interested in, is
that of stipulating which magazines shall not be
carried on the stands, and Amazing Stories is
one of them. This seemed so “amazing” in itself
that I took some very valuable time to investigate
as to the reason (herefor, I went direct to head-
quarters for an explanation, when "stand” clerks
evaded the question, and was informed that the

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September, 1929

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“cover” proclaimed it as containing “trash” and
“sensationalism” and such literature was beiii)'
suppressed by every means. Whan 1 finally proved
the facts to be to the contrary, the stand was taken
that the cover, nevertheless, gave the impression
and that was enough. It is still “taboo” along
with “sex” stuff and literature of a religion -
bigotry trend. Now, as a scientist, I person.illy
care little for illustrations in my fiction, I prel'or
this type of reading to give its impression from
the subject matter and let my own imagination give
the “illustration.” Your artists are good in a way
and I should say by all means to allow them full
sway inside the covers, but if you wish to over-
come the impression of a great many that the pub-
lication is “trash” and also to increase your cir-
culation, I would advise you to make your cover
carry the idea of “class” as does the contents.
Your name could be changed to some other than
that of one of the “Stories” littering the stands
now — say “Scientifiction” and this would help
again. Your attention is invited to the cover on
Broadcast Nexvs as it first apjwared when changed
to its present size, class all over.

I am more or less selfish in inditing the above,
as I find that I am wishing for greater circulating
lK)wer and greater prosperity for your “fiction,”
because 1 would like a better magazine, if such
were possible. You are to be congratulate*! in
publishing a magazine in a class by itself and one
filling a long felt want both to the budding scien-
tific mind and to the more mature. I shall read
it as “scientific relaxation” no matter if it comes
as is or without a cover.

If you desire more information on the main
subject, or greater detail, communication to ad-
dress below will reach me and I shall be pleased
to render any service I can to the editor of my
one “relaxation.”

L. H. Odell,

Box 64, Glen Echo, Md.

(The United States Government might he better
employed than ordering a magazine devoted to
science of all kinds in fictional stories to be ex-
cluded from newsstands under its control, simply
because someone who has not read the stories
thinks that it is not adapted for the civil service
class. We doubt whether a change in name or
cover would make any material difference with
your headquarters now. However, you will notice
there is a change — not only in the covers, but in
the general make-up of the magazine. We hoiw
you like the change. — Editor.) •

SCIENTIFIC PLAUSIBILITY

Editor, Amazing Stories:

I have read your magazine for about a year and
although 1 am not a subscriber, I generally
manage to get my copy at the newsstand. Having
a very wild imagination, I have always appreciated
your stories, especially tho.se dealing with me-
chanics, electro-chemistry, some biology (“Blas-
phemer’s Plateau”) and interplanetariau stories.
In some of the letters in the “Discussions”
Columns I do not always agree with some of the
shortsighted i>cople who condemn futuristic stories
and ideas as “bunk,” etc. In many cases it has
been demonstrated that very few things are im-
possible and people of one age should not con-
demn the possibilities of the next to their own
horizon.

Although I am only a high school boy, I should
like to offer a few criticisms as little as they may
be worth. First, in the case of the “Revolt of
the Atoms,” apparently the vortex grew larger
in less time during that period when it was first
formed and the last moment Flinder saw it
larger than at any other time. It grew in the space
of an hour or so from an inconceivable dot to the
size of a pea, yet as it grew larger, its surface in-
creased very fast. Second, as it was really a
sphere of evolved heat, light and electricity, there
t>cing little solid matter in it except at the out-
side edges, why was it tossed about by the wind?
In the case of the huge magnets, why did they drive
the djuiamo with electric motors and the tractors
presumably by gas? Of course they could not
be run electrically, but if they were, why not use
part of the current supply for the magnet without
involving a motor generator outfit? This Is ob-
viously a trivial matter, but the author ought to
have been experienced enough in electrical mat-
ters to see this. All the stories are good and it
is only occasionally that slight discrepancies are
found and a certain amount of these must be con-
ceded or the stories would become dry.

In the story, “Into the Green Prism” the
mineral Manabinite certainly possessed extra-
ordinary ixjwers but it was not made clear where
the microscopic animals were when reduced. As
they were so infinitely .small, they might have
fallen. down, a tiny crevice and never been found.
It was also *not made • clear whether the tiny
Indians were as small as atoms or* not.

September, 1929

AMAZING STORIES

575

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STORIES — $2.50 a year. Experimenter
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New York City.

Apparently they were not, because they seemed
to have solid ground, but their temples and them-
selves must have been composed of infinitely small
atoms and molecules compared to those of the
full sized world in which their survivors lived.
Just one more question: In a story published
some time ago, entitled “The World at Bay,” the
destroying power of the Troglodytes gas rested
on the fact that it shrank the molecules composing
any substance, and as a result, human beings or
any victims of it were reduced in size and thus
distorted. If the prism reduced the Indians, why
were they not distorted also? Although it was a
good story and well written I did not care for this
last because I do not think it sufficiently scientific-
ally plausible.

John D. Larson, Jr.

R. F. D. No. 2, Silverton, Oregon.

(Mr. Verrill’s story has awakened considerable
criticism. In making it vivid, interesting and
pathetic, he seems to have trenched a little upon
the accepted views of atomic structure, but you
must realize that this same theory is still subject
to change in the future and that it is theory and
not absolute fact. Mr. Verrill, in a talk with us
the other day promised to explain and answer the
questions which suggested themselves to readers
of his story, in a sequel to “Into the Green
Prism.”— Editor.)

THE LORENTZ-FITZGERALD
CONTRACTION
Editor, Amazing Stories:

Jt has often been mentioned that an object
traveling with the speed of light, would appear to
be going backwards to an observer.

A moving body seems smaller by some degree
to an outside observer than it is to an inside
observer. The formula for this shortening of the
dimension length is ^

V standing for velocity of moving object and C
standing for velocity of light.

Let us suppose an object travels at the rate of
148,800 miles per second. That object would
lose 3/5 of its length to the outside observer.

If an object was traveling 186,000 miles per
second, it would have no length. In short it would
be two-dimeiKsional. Therefore, how can an object
traveling with a velocity of that of light seem to
go backwards? And would not an object going at
a greater velocity than that of light have a length
to a minus ilegree?

I wish to state that I have read Amazing
Stories since its start and hope to continue to be
a reader of this magazine.

Samuel Greenspan,

13 Suffolk Street,
New York City.

(If we accept the Loreniz-Kitzgerald contraction
as true, you will find that if a body moves with
the velocity of light, its length will reduce to
zero. But if it moves with a greater velocity than
that of light, the formula gives it an imaginary
quantity, as we have stated elsewhere, so you
would get your square root of a minus quantity,
something which cannot exist, being what the
mathematicians call imaginary. The formula in-
dicates the disappearance of length, so we .suppose
you may say that an object traveling with the
velocity of light would be invisible, from one
viewiKiint, for it would reduce to a plane of
infinite thinness. It might be seen from the front,
but looked at edgeways, it certainly would not be
visible. It would become two dimensional. The
equation gives us quite a bit to think about. —
I^ITOR.)

A QUESTION ABOUT THE LORENTZ-
FITZGERALD CONTRACTION FORMULA
Editor, Amazing Stories:

While reading the “Discussions” in the April
issue of Amazing Stories 1 came across the
formula

L in M = 1VT=I!

or the length of a body in motion equals the
product of its length at rest by the square root
of I minus the quotient of the square of its
velocity divided by the square of the velocity of
light. My question is, should these quantities be
reiluced to the same units? For example, if the
length of the body is given in inches 'should V
and C also be reduced to inches?

George Stehles,

R. D, No. 2, Uniontown, Ohio

(All that is necessary is to express V and C
in the same units. If you assume for V a velocity
greater than that of light, ‘you will have the
square root of a negative quant-ity — an irrational
or imaginary function. This, in a way, under the
T-orentz-Fitzgerald contraction law, would operate
to 'limit the maximum of velocity.— Eoiroii )

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576

AMAZING STORIES

September, 1929

OPPORTUNITY AD-LETS

These columns will appear monthly in Amazing Stories

Rate— Eight cents a word. Cash should accompany all advertisements
unless placed by an accredited advertising agency. Advertisements
for less than 10 words not accepted.

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ANESTHESIA
Editor, Amazing Stories:

I have a comment to make in regard to Mrs.
Harris’ story, “The Diabolical Drug,” which might
be of some interest to you. On page 1S6 of the
May issue, Hamilton says, “1 have discovered
that this pressure, which travels along the nerves
to the brain, is very like volts in electricity . .

To me the interesting thing is that it has been
definitely proved that the nerve impulses are
purely dectrical. I do not believe there has been
anything published in this connection, but in the
research laboratories of the Westinghouse Co.,
the oscillograph shows these impulses clearly
and the varying forms of impulses can be studied
closely, in fact a prominent physician has been
working with our engineers along these lines and
he is now perfecting a system whereby anaesthesia
is produced by introducing a counteracting elec-
trical current into the nerves between the brain
and the locus of an operation to prevent the pain
impulses reaching the brain. This method not
only prevents the patient from experiencing any
pain, but eliminates the shock effects of an opera-
tion since the shock is caused by the strain on the
brain due to the pain impulses reaching it, even
though the patient might not feel pain due to gen-
eral anssthesia by ether or chloroform. With the
electrical method there is no shock since the brain
does not receive messages of pain, the nerves or
“wires” having been blocked off by an equalizing
current which counteracts them and prevents their
reaching their intended destination.

Please excuse the length of this letter. I could
not resist writing because I do not believe that
Mrs. Harris knew when she wrote the words
quoted, that her character was stating a fact that
has actually been proven. Just another instance
that “ScientiHction” is not as fantastic and im
possible as some of its critics make out 1 liked
Mrs. Harris’ story very much.

H. V. Schoepflin,

867 West 181st Street, Bronx, N. Y.

(Your comment on Mrs. Harris’ story is ex-
tremely interesting, if we look on anssthesia as
being a temporary death, which of course it is
not really. The production of it by electricity
comes pretty close to killing a man on the dectric
chair. Your description is certainly most inter-
esting and gives the subject a purely physical
basis, but there is a thing, which undoubtedly
exists, called vital force, and we doubt if the
Westinghouse engineers will ever succeed in
identifying it with electricity.— Editor.)

FOSSILS FOUND UPON THE MOON
Editor, Amazing Stories:

As a high school pupil, I enjoy Amazing Storiss
a great deal. However, I believe some storie.-^
could be criticized.

According to “Moon Strollers,” by Ullrich,
fossilized Ash, crustacea, and shell-Asb were found
on the bed of a former sea. How did they get on
the moon or were they simply evolved parallel to
our forms? I believe it impossible for them to
have been transported through interstellar spac«-
to the moon. It is impossible, in my estimation,
.that forms would be independently evolved so
similar as to have the same general name.

Both land arthropods, such as the spider and
insect, and land verterbrates, such as the mamma:
and bird, were evolved from water dwelling
forms. Yet they are very individual. Their
means of locomotion are somewhat similar, but
their breathing systems and anatomy are very
different. Squids, Ashes, jelly-Ash, and enchino
, derms live in the sea, yet their anatomy and ever
means of locomotion are totally different. There
fore even if the original protoplasm was identical,
one could not expect to And the same phyla much
less the same classes on different worlds. I do
believe there would be an animal kingdom and a
plant differing from those upon the earth.

“The Gas Weed,” by S. A. Coblentz, was very
good.

P. S.— I did enjoy “The Moon Strollers,” how
ever.

Howard Thiesen.

(No Address Given)

(You must let the writers of Action have some
license — the poets arc accorded “poetic license,”
so imaginative writers should have their special
form of allowance. We wonder if it ever occurred
to you to ask yourself why evolution produced the
minor features of animals, which persist through
the centuries. Evolution is a very poor explainer
of many things. How did evolution produce the*
appendix? Why had it not the grace to get us'
rid of is? Why should we have two eyes and
-not three? Three, properly placed, would improve
the Stereoscopy of our vision. The truth is that
evolution has cot progressed much since the days
•of Epicurus.— Editor.)

How Would You Like to Be
Another Lindbergh?

Y ou, too, may win huge prizes for
daring feats of aviation. You,
too, may earn the honors heaped on
heroes of the air by admiring
nations. You, too, may gain the sup-
port and friendship of the great
financial leaders of the world. But
you’ve got to start, and start soon!

Only a little more than 2 years ago
nobody knew Lindbergh. Only a
little more than 2 years ago, he was
just an obscure young man trying to
learn all he could about aviation.

We Are Looking for
Men Who Dare!

Today his fame is probably greater
than that of any other single man.
At the age of 27 he stands a model of
the way to gain fame and fortune
quickly.

We are looking for men who dare
to conquer the air! We are looking
for men who realize that the quick-
est route to success is in a field of
endeavor that is new and growing
fast. We are looking for men who
want to learn all about Aviation. We
want to show them how to get
started right!

AERO

rl Ifediaiiks

These Men Can
Help You

With this ideal (to help the youth
of America learn Aviation) firmly in
mind, we have brought together s
staff of men who KNOW Aviation.
Years of practical experience in tlie
Aviation School of Hard Knocks
have taught them how to conquer
the air. And now, they want to give
this knowledge to you in AERO
MECHANICS, the new magazine
that tells all about Aviation in easy
to-read language. Within its page;
you will learn how a pilot controls
his airplane: how the propeller
works; what you have to do to be-
come a flier; how to build model air-
craft; how to build a glider: and
dozens of other practical, helpful
bits of information every aviator
must know.

Complete Cost Is
Only $1

As a special inducement we are
offering you the next 6 Big issues of
AERO MECHANICS all for a single
$1. Simply clip and mail the coupon
below with your dollar.

AERO MECHANICS

Dept. 2109a, 381 Fourth Avc., New York, N. Y.
Gentlemen:

I am interested in Aviation. Please send me the next
6 issues of AERO MECHANICS, for which 1
enclose $1.

Name i

Street and Qiicci

Dept. 2109a

381 Fourth Avenue, New York, N. Y.

City

State

$ 5 , 000.00
Worth of Prizes

I AM ffoinff to privp away ARJ^OLUTETyV FREE, more
than $5.000. 0(» worth of wonderful prizes, con.sistin;? of
two Autoniohili H. two [’honop,rai)hs, a Shetland .J.’prLV. ,
a Radio, a Ricycle, Silverware and many other high
grade articles of merchandis*' — 'besides ilundred.s of Dollars
in ('ash. Already we have given away Thousands of
Dollars in Cash and Valuable I’rizes to advoriis-* our hu.si-
ness, but this is the most liberal offer we h;xve ovi-r made.
First Prize winner will reciuve an 8 Cyl., lOli Horsepower,

Custom Ruitt Studebaker Sedan or $2, 250. no in cash; Sec-
ond rrizt' Winner will receive a Four-door Chevrolet Se-
dan or $(>75.00 in cash; Third Prize Winner will receive a
Victor Orthophonic Viclrola, Model 84. or $235.00 in cash,
etc. Each Prize will be shipped and delivered right to
the winner'.^ door, all (barges paid. This offer is open to
anyone living in the United Statf'.s. outside of Chicago,
and backed by a Big Reliable Company of many years*
staiKiing.

Find 5 Objects

Starting with the Letter

There are many objects in the picture of the circus above, such as lion, balloon, Indian, aulomoblle, rooster,
boy, tent, etc. If you can find 5 that start with the letter "C.” you may win a Big Prize. Just think of winning a
wonderful new 8-cylinder Studebaker Sedan or $2,250.00 in cash, absolutely free. Somebody is bound to win. Why
not' you? Get busy right away. Find five objects .starting with the letter "C," lill in the coupon below and send it to
ree at once.

List of Prizes

1. 8 Cylinder Studebaker Sedan.

2. Four-door Chevrolet Sedan.

3. Victor Orthophonic Victrola.

4. Shetland Pony, Saddle and
Bridle.

5. Seven Tube Console Radio.

6. Fibre Living Room Set.

7. Electric Vacuum Cleaner.

8. Apollo Motorbike Bicycle.

9. 100-Piece Dinner Set.

10. Ladies' or Men’s Elgin Watch.

11. 29-Piece Silverware Set.

12. Swanson King Portable
Phonograph.

13. New Haven Banjo Clock.

14. Wrought Iron Bridge Lamp.

15. Ladies' Overnight Bag.

$550.00 Given for Promptness

In addition to the Studebaker Sedan, the Chevrolet Sedan, the Victor Orthb-
phonic Victrola. the Shetland Pony and the many other valuable prizes— -besides
Hundreds of Dollars in Cash — I am also going to give $550.00 in Cash for Prompt-
ness. It will pay you to act at once. Any winner may have cash instead of the
prize won and in case of ties, duplicate prizes will be awarded. There are no
tricks or illusions of any -kind and neatness or handwriting do not- count. You
will not be asked to write in any squares, add up any figures, build words, or
solve any additional puzzles of any kind. Get busy right' away. Find 5 objects
.starting with the letter “C,” fill in the coupon below and send it to me just as soon
as possible. EVERYBODY REWARDED. Address

L. E. Wilferd, Mgr., Dept. I06U 315 So. Peoria St., Chicago, III.

L. E. Wilferd. Mgr., Dept. 106(1
315 So. Peoria St., Chicago, lit.

The objects starting with the letter "(s' are:

My Name.

My Address.

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